Lucidity
by RenkonNairu
Summary: In which reality becomes questionable... as do our heroes' perceptions of it. -ambiguous genre-
1. Good Morning Sunshine

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Lucidity

Chapter One: Good Morning Sunshine

He soared through the air as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He and his opponent both. The afternoon sun was dipping low behind the skyline, entering that ambiguous period between afternoon and evening and casting long shadows over the city streets. Wind ruffled his hair –their hair- as they grappled several stories above the ground.

Below them cars slowed, pedestrians paused in their steps, pointing up at the pair of combatants. There was the obligatory shout of "Look up in the sky!" and several other exclamations for a chorus accompaniment.

Then he finally got the upper hand of his opponent, slamming the older man through the nearest building. The man lay prostrate on a bed of splintered and broken office furniture and drywall. His crystal-blue eyes staring up –lifeless and unseeing. His red cape rumpled beneath his body. One blue-clad arm thrown up at an odd angle, as if the bones in it were wrong.

Superman lay dead.

'_Wait. This isn't right!'_

"You saved us!" Someone said.

People surrounded him. They slapped him on the back. Thanked him. Congratulated him. Told him he was great. There was something morbidly familiar about all of this, but he could not put his finger on it. It was as if this had happened before… Déjà vu. But it couldn't have because Superman was still very much alive. Off-planet, but alive! He had had dinner with the Man of Steel and his wife before he left for Rimbor.

So, what the hell was this?

'_Cadmus program.'_

Right… this was one of the false scenarios he had been programmed with. One of many. He hadn't thought about this –any of this- in years. This was a dream –now, a lucid dream. He lifted his eyes to study the people around him, the wrecked office, the sun setting over Hobs Bay outside.

The office was the Daily Planet, but it was how the Planet had looked five years ago. The computers were outdated, the furniture old, the floors the wrong color. Outside the sun was setting, but it was setting over the Bay, over the water, over the coast –the _East_ Coast. He hadn't noticed before. Everything makes sense in dreams. That's why you don't know you're dreaming until you wake-up –or become lucid. He rarely dreamed anymore, but when he did it was usually lucid and he _never_ dreamed about his implanted scenarios.

"I'm going to wake-up now." He told the dream-constructs.

Then he did.

…Except, what he woke-up to didn't seem right either!

He was in a hospital bed. Not his blissfully small room at the Cave. He was lying down. Not standing at an acute angle. There was an EKG machine next to his bed, measuring his heartbeats and confirming to the world that he was still alive. He sat up and reached a hand up to his head, only to wince at the stab of sudden pain inside his elbow. He looked down and saw an IV in his arm. _In his arm_!

_That_ was the most alarming thing of all.

That was _not_ supposed to happen. He was invulnerable! Needles were not supposed to penetrate his skin! What had happened? Where was the Team? Why was he in a civilian hospital instead of the Cave's infirmary? How had the med-techs managed to penetrate his skin? What was going on?

'_Calm down!'_

Asking questions would only get him so far. Think. The last thing he remembered before going to sleep was… well, that should have been going to sleep! Or, rather, given the sate he was waking up in, more likely an explosion of a battle or something like that. He had an edict memory –he remembered everything- except he didn't remember what he'd done before waking up here. Focus. Keep going back. In the Cave… a mission briefing… He was to lead a team on a mission. Just a small team. Three people. Surveillance.

The irritating beeping of the EKG was annoying. It was hard to think. Outside someone was shouting angrily. The voice was male. But it was so muffled by the door that he could neither recognize it nor understand the words. Then, in a glittering stab of horror, he _realized_ that the sound was muffled. He couldn't hear it clearly. But… he could hear everything –he had super-hearing. Except… the angry voices –yes, there were two of them now- were just on the other side of the door and they were muffled. To him. To his super-hearing.

He couldn't hear as well as he should.

He couldn't remember yet he was supposed to have an edict memory.

There was a needle in his invulnerable flesh!

Something was not right.

'_What was your first clue?'_

The door was finally opened, gifting him with the first clear words he heard since waking up. "…I don't give a damn about your 'visiting hours'! I want to see my son, so I am going to see my son! And so help me! If you get in my way I will sue you and this entire establishment for everything its worth!"

From his angle, all he saw at first was a hand on the door-handle –clutching it with angry tension. The middle finger sported a large silver man's ring with an unusually bright green stone set in it. The wrist was obscured by the white sleeve of a slightly wrinkled, but very fine quality Italian dress-shirt. The door opened the rest of the way.

The man became fully visible.

"Luthor!" Was all he could snarl.

His eyes once again returned to the man's hand and the silver right with its bright green stone –his krypnonite ring. At this proximity he should be feeling its effects. He may not absorb the radiation as readily as Superman, but it still affected him. It still hurt him. Except now it didn't. He felt fine. Wait a moment. Hadn't the ring given Luthor cancer a couple years back? Yes. Yes it had! It had driven him to cut off his own hand to prevent the cancer from spreading.

He gave the man's hands another critical examination. They were both natural, not prosthetic and they were whole.

Lex Luthor seemed utterly oblivious to the vehemence in his voice or the critical gaze of his eyes as he rushed to the boy's side –stricken relief painted over his face. "Alex!" He said. "Thank god you're alright!"

'_What?_'

So taken aback was he that he could do nothing more than simply stare, dumbfounded, as if Luthor had suddenly grown a second head, sprouted wings for ears and started singing Prima's Aria. Forget his supposed 'edict' memory being spotty. Forget his hearing suddenly becoming simply 'average'. Forget his invulnerable flesh being pierced by a needle. This! _This_ was the single most shocking thing thus far.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously at the man –studying him critically. Yes, it was indeed Lex Luthor that now leaned over him with nothing but concern on his face. There was the slightly pointed chin, the high cheek-bones, the strait nose, green eyes and, of course, his iconic baled head. He saw that it was Lex. He just couldn't believe that it was Lex. What new game was his 'father' playing?

Or, maybe it was Mxyzptlk? With Superman off planet, would the imp bother him instead? Or would Mxy follow the Man of Steel to Rimbor? This didn't really _feel_ like a Mxy prank. It was absurd, but not at all absurd in the same way. No… this had to be something else.

He glared up at Luthor; his crystal-blue irises meeting the other's forest green ones. "What's going on?"

"You don't remember?" Luthor's concern shifted to outright worry, then anger. He turned around to, once again, face the person he'd been arguing with before. They wore OR scrubs, but it was difficult to tell if they were a nurse of or a doctor. "Why doesn't he remember!"

"Mr. Luthor, please, your son has only just regained consciousness. Some short-term memory loss is natural."

Luthor growled, a low, threatening, guttural sound from the back of his throat. He knew humans could make such sounds, but the never imagined such a noise coming from someone as starched and groomed as _Luthor_! "For your sake, Doctor, that better be true. Now get the hell out! I want to talk to my son!"

Luthor glared at the man until he finally went away. Muttering to himself about billionaires and how they thought they owned the world. When the door was finally shut firmly behind him, Luthor's attention returned to the boy on the bed.

"How are you feeling, Alex? Do you remember the accident? Don't bother asking about your bike. It was totaled, and even if it hadn't been I would have made sure it was. You're never getting on another one of those death-traps again!"

'_What?_'

He just continued to stare at the man. It probably would have made _more sense_ if he had suddenly sprouted a second head, wings for ears and began singing Prima's Aria. Nothing Luthor was doing, saying or implying was making sense. Especially when compared against his past experiences with the man. Unless of course, this was just some new and obscenely large-scale ploy of some kind to get him to do something. It was absurd and seemed a little impractical. But after five years, he had come to expect just about _anything_ from the man. Really, Luthor's schemes knew no bounds.

So, when he finally did speak, he said the only thing that made sense to him in that moment. "Alright, what's the game this time?"

For a moment, Luthor looked disappointed and perhaps even a little… _sad_? No! Surely he was reading the expression wrong.

"Not everything between us has to have a hidden agenda, son."

'_Oh, really!'_

That was an out-and-out lie if he ever heard one. Everything between them had hidden agendas and double meanings. It was the single consistent characteristic of their non-relationship. He held Luthor's gaze a moment longer. Glaring contests were the smallest and most common form their battles of will took. They usually ended in stalemates, only drawing to a close when they were interrupted by secretaries bearing shady documents or intercontinental ballistic missiles armed with neurotoxic warheads heading for major population centers. But in this instance, he gave in, lowering his gaze and ceding to his genetic donor.

His eyes once again fell on his IV.

"How'd you get the needle in my arm?"

Luthor tilted his head to the side, raising one eyebrow and regarding him soberly for a long moment. Finally, he said, "Alex, you're starting to worry me."

"Why do you keep calling me that!"

Head-games were nothing new when dealing with Luthor. He was just an average human when it came to things like strength, speed, or endurance. The man could never threaten, match or overpower him physically. But Luthor did have one weapon that he kept well honed and never hesitated to use. His mind. Loath though he was to admit it, Luthor did have a brilliant mind. He was quick, adaptable, cleaver, analytical, strategic and never failed to run him in circles until something finally broke to let him get away. He never won a conversation against Luthor, he just left –or resorted to physical retaliation (as was more often the case).

But neither of those seemed to be options at present. He could neither bolt from this hospital bed, nor could he threaten to put Luthor's brilliant baled head through a wall. At least… not until he got some answers. Preferably, answers that made some semblance of sense.

"Alex…?"

Yes, that was indeed concern permeating Luthor's face and voice. But what was it doing there? Things weren't right. His apparent absence of powers aside, he suddenly and inexplicably seemed to be immune to the ring Luthor wore, a ring that was supposed to have driven him to amputate his hand. But the hand was still there, just as lily-white and finely manicured as it had been before the cancer. He ignored, for the moment, the fact that Luthor was seeming to care. He filed that under the explanation of 'an act' and pushed it aside. There were other things that needed explaining.

A parallel universe could explain the presence of his natural hand. But it did not explain why the ring no longer bothered him. A red sun could explain the absence of his powers, but he was pretty sure this was an Earth hospital and (unless he had also been flung thirty-eight trillion years into the future) Earth's sun was still yellow. He looked to the window. Outside it was raining. The clouds were thick and dark. The sun was veiled.

He looked back down at his hands –thinking.

His hands! He had noticed the IV in his arm. He had not noticed the hospital band around his wrist on the opposite hand. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he turned the steral blue plastic band until the name on it was visible. He froze at what he read.

The tag proclaimed him to be '_Luthor, Alexander K_.'

His head swam and he felt bile rise in his throat. He swallowed it down. He would _not_ show weakness in front of Lex. He took several calming breaths. When he was sure he finally had his body under control again, he said, "I want to know what's going on, and I want to know _now_!"

…

He was in Paris.

The lights of Île Saint-Louis reflected off the dark waters of the Seine River, illuminating the night in a way that the Gotham River never could have. He was in pursuit of a target. The unlikely ally of Lady Shiva was somewhere about. Not anywhere he could see, but he knew she was there. He had lost track of Clyde. The three of them were in pursuit of the notorious drug trafficker King Snake.

Except…

Hadn't that already happened?

Yes. It had.

Batman had sent him to Paris as the first stop on a world tour of training. He was supposed to meet up with a man named… something. Rahul Lama. That was it! He was a martial arts master of sorts. He was supposed to study with him. But he got sidetracked. That tended to happen a lot with this job.

But that was a little over a year ago.

He stopped.

Just stopped. In mid-swing. He hung from his grapple-line, examining the city around him. The skyline was that of Île Saint-Louis, as were the lights. But the building faces didn't look right. The architecture was wrong. The walls themselves to dirty to be Île Saint-Louis. True, any urban center had its fair share of filth, but this was more-so. This was a level of grime that would look more at home, well, at _home_! His home –Gotham.

The river looked off too. It was also to dirty. The water to dark. The shape of the bank cut wrong. And it flowed in the wrong direction! He hung there a moment longer, pondering these oddities and their possible causes. Delusion or hallucination were the first two and most obvious explanations. But these didn't feel quite like delusions, they were to clear and well defined. The lines were sharp, the colors vivid. It wasn't at all distorted or blurry. Not abstract or ambiguous.

Except, it _was_ ambiguous.

At least, as far pinning down a name for this location. It looked like Île Saint-Louis, but the river it sat on was not the Seine but rather looked more like Gotham's Finger River. Then, in a burst of sparkling clarity, he understood.

"This is a memory. I'm dreaming."

All he had to do was wake up. Hanging there, still in the air, suspended only by his think grappling line, he closed his eyes…

…and opened them again.

His bedroom ceiling stared back at him. His bedroom ceiling from the house in the suburbs he and his father had lived in before the 'No Man's Land' fiasco. But they had moved out of this house to an inner-city apartment. …Hadn't they? Him, his father and Dana. Right? He had no idea what was going on, but he was damn sure going to find out!

After all, he was apprentice to the World's Greatest Detective.

Waking up in his former suburban home was odd enough as it was, but that had been nothing compared to the shock he'd received upon walking downstairs and entering the kitchen. Janet Drake –his mother- stood over the stove, turning over an omelet and poking a pan of bacon. _That_ was when Tim decided something was good and truly _off_. His mother had passed away during a vacation in the Caribbean. She had been taken hostage and poisoned… or something like that. Hadn't she?

She must have, because his father remarried. A woman named… he had just thought about her a moment ago upstairs. What had her name been? This was frustrating, he knew this, he had just thought about her. Something 'Winters'… he was sure of it.

Except…

That didn't make any since. Why would his father remarry when his mother was right here? He knew they weren't divorced. Something wasn't right.

All these thoughts, however, were forgotten the instant his mother turned around, a plate of eggs and bacon in her hand and a smile on her face. He had the sudden urge to run up and hug her. But he didn't. Instead, Tim stood rooted to the spot. Every lesson learned since… since what? Since something, told him that this wasn't right. That he needed to stop and think. Something was off and he needed to find out what and –if possible- fix it.

"Well, good morning, sleepy-head." She said. "Nice to see you're finally up."

She set two plates of omelet and bacon on the kitchen table. Tim recognized obnoxiously bright yellow tablecloth with white flowers. There was an old ketchup stain where he was sure a bleach stain was supposed to be. Or had that just been his imagination?

They sat down to breakfast. His mother chattered away about her plans for the day, what the neighbors were doing. Iis father would be home late this evening, things at work were getting tense. There was a PTA meeting this Saturday, did Tim have any issues he wanted her to bring up? For one so young he always did have good insights.

He offered non-committal responses to all her questions or attempts to engage him in conversation. Most of Tim's attention was focused on studying his surroundings and analyzing what he saw. This was his home. The house in the sub-urbs his family had lived in before… before what? They had moved. He thought he remembered, but why? Or had that just been a dream? Jeez, some dream.

Outside he heard the next-door neighbor mowing their lawn. The seductive melody of an ice-cream truck tinkled in through the open kitchen window. It was a little early in the morning to be selling ice-cream, wasn't it?

He looked back down at his food. It was good. The eggs were a bit bland, but that was just the way Janet made them and it was nothing a little salt couldn't fix. The plate was a solid white Corelle plate, Corelle was _supposed_ to be unbreakable china. They had the set since before he was born; it had been a wedding gift (or something) to his parents. Tim could recall having broken a grand total of three pieces of the set in his lifetime –nothing was 'unbreakable'.

After breakfast, he barricaded himself in his room. Tim fished under the bed for… something. When he didn't find it there he checked the closet. It wasn't there either. He tapped his ear, thinking he should call… someone. And when his finger impacted lightly on his naked ear-lobe Tim had to stop and realize just how ridiculous that was. If he was going to call someone, he would use the phone not… not something in his ear? A blue-tooth? But he didn't have a blue-tooth, his father was afraid it would get lost or stolen at school. Tim was responsible, but things happen.

He sat down at his desk and booted up his computer. Opening a blank window, he began to type in the appropriate passwords to allow him to interface with… another computer… A rather large, highly advance and highly _secure_ computer by the looks of the code he'd just typed. He had no idea what he was doing or trying to do. Tim closed the window. He searched his room again for that thing he'd been looking for, but still could neither remember what it was he had lost or why he wanted it. All he knew was that he did not want to leave the house without it.

Tim sat on his bed, more confused than he'd ever been in all his thirteen years.

Something was up with him. That much he knew. He also knew that he had to get to the bottom of whatever it was. After all, he was a detective.

…

He woke up on the beach.

There were paramedics on one side of him and a pair of police on the other. He couldn't recall how he'd gotten there. The hot sun beat down on him. The sand under his back was dry and slightly itchy. Yet, he had no trouble breathing. The air was humid and thick. The sun was hot, but not deathly unforgiving. He _was_ thirsty though.

His attention shifted to the paramedics. Why were they here? Where was his Team? The mission… what had the mission been? He didn't know. He couldn't remember. He tried to sit up.

He froze.

It was not the fact that he was utterly and completely naked that startled him. No, that was just a minor oddity he noted and then quickly forgot in light of the far more startling and utterly horrifying realization. His skin… _skin_, not scales… His beautiful blue-green scales were gone and in their place he looked down on a pair of darkly tanned but very _human_ looking legs. Complete with sun-blemishes and leg-hairs. His feet… the toes were not webbed, they were also normal human toes. An inverted V of a tan-line told him that he wore flip-flop sandals more often then perhaps he should.

But… that couldn't be right. He didn't wear shoes at all because of the webbing between his toes. …Except the webbing wasn't there.

He would have reached a hand up to feel his ear. To make sure it was still fin-shaped as it should be. But he was reprimanded by the paramedic.

"Try not to make any sudden movements, sir."

He turned his attention to the man, and stared bemusedly at him –as if not really seeing him or perhaps doubting the reality of his existence. "My scales are gone."

The paramedics and the police both exchanged a _look_. He recognized it because it was the same look he and Robin had exchanged one mission in response to noting how Blue Beetle talked to –neh, _argued_- with himself. It was a look that said only one thing, 'Oy vey, this one's a nutter.' Or, to voice it more politely, 'He's a bit of an odd fish.'

One of the policemen cleared his throat, commanding attention. He had his cop's notebook in his hands, a pen poised at the read. "What's your name, son?"

He looked suspiciously up at the man. Where was his Team? The mission… it had been a squad of three men. He was sure of that. At the briefing… he had been distracted at the briefing. M'gann had been filling his head with images of what she wanted to do to him after he got back. It made it hard to concentrate on what Nightwing had been saying. But… this man was an officer of the law, a peacekeeper of the surface. They were on the same side… right?

So, he answered cautiously, "Lagoon Boy."

The officer sighed and tapped his badge. "Kid, this is the Miami Police Department. When this asks for your name, we want your _real_ name."

…


	2. Greet the Day

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Lucidity

Chapter Two: Greet the Day

Alexander Luthor, affectionately called 'Alex' by those whom knew him intimately, sat in the back seat of his father's limo starring listlessly out the window at the rain. Everything was a wash of shades of gray, from the water-streaked buildings to the murky clouds of the sky. Even the clear streams of water that played over the window as they drove had a gray tinge to them. He peered up at the sky, searching for the sun and trying to remember a dream. It wasn't the dream he had been having right before he woke up. It was a different dream.

His head hurt, as did his whole body, and Alex felt like that shouldn't happen. He felt like he should already be healed from what happened to him. But he also felt that what had happened should not have injured him in the first place.

A motorcycle accident, his father said. He and his 'hoodlum friends' had been pulling idiot stunts with their bikes. He had caught a landing from a jump wrong, lost control and crashed.

That didn't sound right, though. He wasn't usually in the habit of pulling stupid stunts unless he thought it was necessary to complete a mission, or survive or escape a mission gone bad.

'_Mission…'_ That sounded like something out of his dream. The dream that he _didn't_ have right before waking. He was the only son of the single richest man in Metropolis. What did he go on missions for? _Who_ would he go on missions for? No one. His father practically owned this town, and he owned it through proxy, he didn't go on missions. People went on missions for _him_.

And yet… that didn't seem right…

Beside him his father shifted position, opening the small paper pharmacy bag that held Alex's painkillers and anti-biotics. These were also things he felt he shouldn't need. He thought he should be immune to everything –or at least, every Earth-born microbe and bacteria. What would he need anti-biotic for? And pain killers? No, thank you. They might make him feel better but they would just dull his already fuzzy mind and senses. If he could just get some sunlight…

Alex felt like everything would be better again if he could just see the beautiful yellow sun high in the sky.

"How are you feeling?" His father asked beside him. "Do you need another one of these?"

He held out the bottle and Alex's eyes first focused on the silver ring with its bright green stone. He reflexively flinched away. But why? It was just silver and emerald. Something his father always wore. Why did it bother him so? And why did he not trust his father? Alex studied the man, Lex Luthor, Alexander Luthor Sr. His face held nothing but concern; there was no hint of a double entendre, or hidden agenda. And yet… Alex was on guard; as if sure at any moment the man might attack him.

He shook his head at the bottle; the action causing a wave of pain in everything from the neck up and he instantly regretted both the action and the refusal it conveyed. But painkillers ran the likelihood of altering his mental state and he did not want that. So, he said, "No. No drugs."

Lex withdrew the offered bottle. He regarded his son for a moment. Then, "Heh, usually _I'm_ the one who has to tell _you_ to ease up on the drugs." He replaced the bottle in its pharmaceutical bag. "I don't know if I should feel relived that you're finally cleaning up your act or worried that you're personality is so dramatically altered."

Alex didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

He turned his attention from the window to his hands folded in his lap. They were strong sinewy hands, as they should be. But they were rougher than he expected them to be. The palms sported calluses from long hours gripping handle-bars tighter than was necessary. But that wasn't right. He never callused, or, Alex felt he wasn't supposed to callus. He was supposed to be made of steel.

Then his eyes fell on the plastic hospital tag still around his wrist.

"What does the K stand for?" He asked.

"What?" Lex asked in utter confusion.

So, Alex lifted his hand to show the band that clearly read, '_Luthor, Alexander K_.' "What does the K stand for?"

'_Kr… or Krypton…_' Something in the back of his mind told him. Alex wasn't sure where those ideas came from. His father wasn't exactly the type to give him an element off the periodic table as a middle name.

"Kent." Lex replied as if remarking that water is wet.

"_Kent…"_ It was the first thing Alex heard since waking that seemed _right._

"Yes, its Welsh. It means 'coastal region' or 'from the coast'. It's a good respectable name for a man to have."

All that he knew. But Alex couldn't shake the feeling that this etymological knowledge of the name 'Kent' did not actually come from Lex. Another man had told him the meaning. He also had the name 'Kent' and it seemed _right_ that they both should share it. Almost like an older brother...

…Except 'Kent' was his middle name, not a surname.

…And he was an only-child. He had no siblings, older or younger.

Alex returned his gaze to the window. The buildings were growing shorter and farther apart now. They were entering an upscale residential neighborhood. The kind where each house had a front yard the size of a football field and you needed a GPS just to make it up the driveway without getting lost. Each property was walled or gated and each entrance to each wall, be it car or pedestrian, had a security camera.

They turned into a driveway and a heavy wrought iron gate that sported a family crest prominently bearing the letter L parted to allow the limo to enter the property. The driveway was long and strait, and flanked by trees on both sides. They were thick and dense and obscured his vision of the grounds. Again, Alex felt this was wrong. He should be able to see better than this. He should be able to see things other people couldn't see, like heat! Or things very very far way or very very small.

His father patted him on the knee. "We're almost home."

"I can see that."

Except this wasn't his home. Or, rather, Alex felt it _shouldn't_ be his home. He imagined a home in Rhode Island. Somewhere on the beach. With roommates. Lots and lots of roommates. From all sorts of walks of life and age ranges. He imagined a young boy climbing on him like a monkey and he just standing there as stable as a brick. He thought of a black girl dressed in yellow and black tights, like a bee. Another girl was red-headed and liked baking. Another boy came from an ethnic background and often talked to himself… as if arguing with some inner demon…

He would find nobody like that here.

The Luthor mansion came into view, rising in his vision as a splotch of light gray against the darker gray of everything else. Alex guessed it was supposed to be some kind of white stone or marble. The driveway made an elegant loop, which allowed for the driver to drop them off at the front door before curving back to the driveway and heading for the carport.

In the entryway a maid took his coat. Alex barely noticed her. His eyes studied the interior of the house. The first thing he saw as he entered was the grand escalier staircase, the kind that would make the Paris Opera House blush with envy. Made of white stone the steps had an alternating pattern of black and white that reminded Alex of the horizontal stripes of prison uniforms from the 1930s. His eyes followed the stairs down to the checkered marble floor, also in a pattern of alternating black and white.

'_Like a chess board.'_

Lex rematerialized by his side. "Do you need help getting to your room?"

"I'm not an invalid!" Alex snarled back at him, perhaps a bit more vehemently than was necessary. He took one step out onto the chess board floor, making his way to the prison-shirt stairs only to pause. He stood frozen on the square usually reserved for the king, a piece that could only move one space at a time, and said, "I don't know where it is."

With his father's help, Alex was lead up the stairs and down a corridor to a spacious room that was richly furnished. It looked like something from an illustration, not the kind of room a person actually lived in but rather some idealized living space they wished to have.

He walked strait to the window and pulled the heavy curtains aside. It was still raining hard. No sunlight.

He crossed to the adjoining bathroom.

That was another thing that seemed odd. Alex could have sworn that he shared a communal bathroom. Not just bathroom, but showers and locker-room. He remembered a large, well lit shower with floor to ceiling blue tile, six… no eight shower heads, four drains in the floor. He often showered with other men and bantered over the days events, or girls, or…

'_Hey, Supey, how come you haven't got a belly-button?_'

Alex faced the mirror above the sink and stepped back just enough for his abdomen to enter the frame. Lifting his shirt, he examined his belly. He most certainly did have a navel. Why would he think he didn't? It was an absurd idea.

His father knocked respectfully on the doorframe. "I've set tonight's dose of your medication out on your beside table. The bottles I'm giving to the housekeeper to look after. Given your past history with medications I think that's best and I don't want any argument on the matter."

"Okay." If Luthor wanted to make it harder for him to take mind altering drugs then fine. He was all for it.

Lex entered the bathroom and stood behind him. Their reflections were almost the same height. But that was about the only similarity between them. Lex's face was narrow, his chin slightly pointed. Alex's was wider, her chin flat with a prominent cleft in it. They both had high cheekbones, but the shape and setting were all wrong. Lex's nose was long and strait. His was shorter and more button-like. Lex's eyes were green and narrow. His were blue and almond shaped. Lex was supposed to be his father, yet Alex could see none of the man in him.

"Alex, are you alright?" The older man put a concerned hand on the boy's shoulder. "You're not acting like your usual self."

That was only because he had no idea what his 'usual self' was supposed to be like.

…

Tim stepped off the subway.

He had taken a bus from his lovely sub-urban home to the train station, two subway routs later, he was stepping off onto the platform nearest to… something? He actually didn't know where he was going.

He had left his house –feeling like he forgot something. Rushed back into the house and spent some more time searching for that mysterious _thing_ he'd lost. Given-up for a third time and tried leaving the house again –feeling naked. He had then gotten on a bus. From the bus to a subway train. For the subway train to a second subway train. He now stood at the top of the stairs that lead up to the sidewalk wondering what in the world he was doing.

Tim looked up at the dingy buildings of Gotham. He was not the type of person who did things for no apparent reason.

The central headquarters for the Gotham Police Department was across the street from him. Had that been his destination? Maybe. He seemed to remember standing on the roof of it a lot. He had no idea why. There was a light… a spotlight. And someone else there with him. Older… more… _experienced_? Experienced at what?

Might as well take a look. This was the only lead he had; he might as well follow it up. It wasn't much of a lead, but he was one of the four world's greatest detectives.

He stepped through the GCPD's revolving doors and into a whirlwind of paperwork and human bodies. He wasn't quite sure where he was going; Tim just let his feet guide him. It was not what he was used to doing –following his gut. That was more of a… someone else's thing. Also someone older. …An older brother? No. He was an only child. Someone else.

He walked with the slow confidence of a clear purpose, though he did not feel this was so. No one bothered him as he navigated his way through the first floor lobby. Tim found the access door to the emergency stairs. No alarm sounded when he opened the door. No one noticed him slip inside. Seven flights later, Tim found himself standing on the roof of the GCPD building.

There was a giant searchlight. But it didn't seem quite right to him.

It was huge, as it should be. But it looked rarely used. Ill cared for. Its lens had grown foggy with age and there was rust on the fringes of some of its metal parts. But the most disturbing part was that something was mission. Tim felt like there should have been some sort of symbol in the middle of the lens. A symbol like… like a…

…Tim didn't know.

…

Alex woke that morning to find that the rain had stopped and the dreary gray cloud-cover was cut here and there by thin rays of sunlight. Bright, warm, _yellow_ sunlight. He didn't know why the fact that it was yellow comforted him so much. After all, what other color would it be?

He crawled out of bed, ignoring the pain of his body as it screamed in protest. The dosage of painkillers his father had left for him the previous night still sat untouched on the beside table. Alex had not taken it then and he would not take it now. He didn't need drugs; he just needed a few good hours of sunlight. He was sure of it!

A pair of wide French-doors lead out onto his balcony and Alex swung them both open wide. The frigid morning air hit him full force, pinking his face and exposed chest. For a moment he paused to grumble to himself that that shouldn't happen. But that was a silly idea. Of course cold air would turn his skin a bit pink. It went hand in hand with having such a fair complexion –you always colored more easily than people with darker skin.

The decorative stones of the balcony were like ice under his feet and Alex made a quick retreat back into his room to retrieve a pair of socks, or slippers, or something.

With his feet now covered, he returned to the outside. Leaning over the railing, he let the sun warm his body while the breeze sought to chill it.

The grounds of Luthor Manor stretched out beneath him, an expanse of short, well mowed and rarely walked upon green grass. The was a large pond to the west that was surrounded by cattails and fern. Someone had set a stone bench out near the bank, but it looked as if no one ever took advantage of it.

Off in the distance to the north, the Metropolis skyline rose into the still low hanging cloud-cover. Alex focused his eyes on that skyline, on its jagged gray towers rising out of the earth like the crenulations of a house key. He was looking for something. What, he had no idea. After all, what would he expect to see up in the sky from this distance? A bird? A plane?

'_Red…'_

He thought. Something red.

The wind ruffled Alex's hair and reminded him of just how cold the morning after a rain could be. He shivered, wondering why he had come outside without a robe or something on. He wasn't made of steel. That was an odd expression. 'You're not made of steel.' Steel still got cold. Wouldn't it make more sense to say something like 'You're only human.' or 'You're not invulnerable.'?

His eyes once again fell to the wide grassy grounds. So flat. So green. Still wet from last night's rain, it almost seemed to glitter where the few rays of sunlight cut through the clouds. It almost reminded him of stars.

'_Stars… star… el…_'

Alex decided he liked their sparkle and glitter. The play of water and light. He liked light, especially sunlight. There was something about it. Sunlight and starlight. They were basically the same thing, after all. The sun was a star.

The clouds shifted above him and the ray of sun warming Alex's balcony suddenly disappeared. He glance up in the sky, glaring at the thick gray cloud-cover. Then his attention returned to the grounds. He saw the next closest ray of light to him. It was several meters off from him, on the grass in the middle of the lawn.

'_I could jump that._' He thought.

Just one quick leap from the balcony, half-way across the yard, land softly on the wet grass and he'd once again be in the sun. Alex lifted one leg up onto the balcony railing, paused for balance before he raised the other leg. His muscles and bones protested the motion. He was still recovering from… whatever he'd been in the hospital for. A motorcycle accident his father had said. That didn't sound right to Alex, but he couldn't think of any other plausible alternative, so why no go ahead and believe it for now? He once again focused his eyes on his target.

"Ahem." Someone cleared their throat conspicuously behind him.

Alex froze, as if caught in the act of rule breaking. Thought, he wasn't sure what rule he had violated. He turned around slowly to find Happeren, his father's personal assistant, standing in his bedroom, just inside the door.

"Pardon me, sir." He said with starch formality. "But Miss Roxy Leech is here to see you."

Alex stared at the man for a moment, as if not fully processing what he'd said. Then, he asked the only question that seemed to make sense.

"Who?"

…

The cab dropped Tim off at the gate.

He handed the driver the correct fair. It cost all the cash he had left on him. He did not tip. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew his parents would be mad at him. Not just for blowing all his allowance for this month on transportation all over the city, but also for going on this crazy adventure in the first place. He had no idea what he hoped to find, just that he had to keep looking.

The driver stuck his head out the window before he pulled away. "You sure you're gonna be a'right, kid?" He asked. "You want me to wait an' take ya home? No charge. It don't seem right leavin' a kid out in the middle of nowhere."

"I'll be fine." Tim assured him.

The driver just shook his head, shifted the gear into drive and pulled away. For all his talk about it 'not being right' to leave a kid alone outside an old manor in the middle of nowhere, it sure didn't take much to get him to leave.

Tim waited until the bright green and white cab –a stark contrast to the darker earth tones around them- disappeared through the dense trees. Then he turned his attention back to the gate. It was an old wrought-iron gate. Thick vertical bars with a slight spiral to them that ended in sharp flour-de-lies, a large iron W inside an oval had been welded to those bars. It was as good as a family crest as far as the city of Gotham was concerned, like royalty.

_Wayne._

An intercom-box had been mounted to the stone-wall beside the gate. It was this that Tim went to, pressing the button to page the main house. There was the sound of synthetic dialing, then static, then…

"Yes?" …an older male voice with a very distinct British accent answered.

"Hi. I, uh, I'm looking for…" What? Something? Someone? Not Bruce Wayne, that was sure. His dad was marginally acquainted with the man through work but that did name make them friends. It certainly didn't give Tim the right to show up at his house unannounced for no apparent reason. "…Nothing. Never mind. I'm sorry to bother you."

He would have to look somewhere else. This was a dead end, just like the police station had been. Tim didn't know why he was drawn to those places, he just had been. …And now he was stuck out in the middle of nowhere. Damn. He should have asked that driver to wait. A free ride back to the city was exactly what he needed right now.

"Young man, are you in some sort of trouble?" The elderly British man asked over the intercom. "Do you require assistance?"

"No…" Tim assured him. "I'm just… looking for something…"

He switched off the intercom and walked away. He could follow the road back into the city and grab the train as the first station he came to. Tim had used up all his cash, but he still had hit Gotham Trans tap-card. He didn't want to walk the eight miles that stretched between Wayne Manor and Gotham city limits, but it did look like his only option.

Tim heaved a sigh and started trudging.

He did not follow the road back to the city.

Instead, young Drake found himself trekking through the woods. He struck out, perpendicular to the road, making his way around the perimeter of the Wayne property. One hour, a torn jacket, a couple poison oak rashes and countess bug bites later, Tim found himself staring at a blank cliff face. Yet another think he'd done without knowing why. Another place visited with no clear purpose. This time, he was in the middle of nowhere.

Tim guessed he was probably directly behind Wayne Manor. Craning his neck up he could just barely see a few thin lightning rods crowing the pinnacle roofs reaching up into the gray overcast sky. What was he looking for?

It was said that these cliffs were rattled with caves. Maybe he was looking for a cave of some kind? But what would he want in a cave? Bat?

'_Bats…_'

The idea stirred something familiar in the back of his mind. But it was abstract and illusive, like out of a half-remembered dream. People dressed as bats… No. Just one person dressed as a bat. No… two people dressed as bats. A man and a woman. No. A man and a girl. And… another man… younger than the bat but older than Tim… He was the same age as the girl. His costume was… he wore a costume that was… it had a…

Tim braced one hand against the cliff face while the other went to his head. He felt groggy and dizzy. Almost like vertigo, except he didn't have a history of vertigo. Tim was rather confident in the belief that he could jump off a skyscraper, swing around the building on a thin cable and kick through a window to land in a summersault before reclaiming his footing and be perfectly fine. Though, he had no idea where he got so specific an idea.

What was he doing?

He lifted his head to look around. He was out in the middle of nowhere. Had no money on him and the day was running thin. His parent would be so furious! He didn't even know what it was he had come out here looking for in the first place! This was so stupid and not at all like this! Tim was smarter than this! Tim Drake did not act on impulse. Tim Drake paused to think. Tim Drake calculated his moves before he made them. Tim Drake figured things out. He did not go running off to all sorts of odd places for indistinct reasons searching for something he wasn't even sure he had to begin with.

…

They had taken him to a hospital.

A surface hospital. On land. They didn't believe him when he said he wasn't human, he was atlantian. They all thought he was crazy. But he knew he wasn't crazy.

"I'm not crazy!" He told them, more than once. "Call the League! They'll tell you! They'll know what to do. Aquaman! King Orin! Call Aquaman! I'm his protégé! Call Aquaman! He's the King of Atlantis! I'm atlantian!"

But they didn't believe him. Instead, they pumped him full of sedatives and had him moved to the psych ward. They couldn't commit him unless he became a physical danger to either himself or someone else, but they could hold him while he was treated for shock and dehydration.

…


	3. Day's Activities

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Lucidity

Chapter Three: Day's Activities

As it turned out, Roxy Leech was his girlfriend.

That was news to Alex. He seemed to vaguely remember a girlfriend in the back of his mind. But he had broken up with that girlfriend. She had done something to him… something unforgivable and he had ended it. He remembered red hair and… and the scent of cookies baking.

The girl that greeted him was not red headed and she looked like she had never stepped into a kitchen more than twice in her whole life. She was blond. Bottle blond, not natural blond. Cheaply done, her roots still showed dark, her hair was curled in a way that Alex couldn't tell if it was just a bad perm or a natural frizz.

He met her in one of the second floor drawing rooms. Happersen had thrown a dressing gown over his shoulders. Goodness forbid he greet a guest bare-chested in his pajamas. The man also remained in the room after introductions had been given –to chaperone, no doubt.

Roxy jumped up the moment she saw him, crossing the room in three quick hopping strides that kicked her skirt up indecently showing her upper thighs. She wrapper her arm around him with more enthusiasm then Alex felt was necessary.

"AK, you're all better!" Her arm encircling him put more pressure on his ribs than was comfortable, his shoulders hurt and every muscle above the wait and below the neck felt tender and sore.

"Roxy?" He ventured, not at all convinced he was romantically involved with this woman.

Rather than respond, she mashed her lips against his in a sloppy exchange of saliva that he refused to call a 'kiss'. Her pelvis was pressed against his and she let out a deep, throaty and utterly fake moan of pleasure. Alright. That was it. Alex placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed Roxy off of him. Holding her at arms length, he regarded her, silently studying her appearance.

She was pretty, he supposed. In a fake Hollywood-rock-star-groupy-chick sort of way. It wasn't just her messy blond hair, or her heavy caked-on make-up, her black leather motorcycle jacket, or her denim pleated skirt that was simply just impractical for today's weather. It was all of it coming together to form a whole picture that was Roxy Leech. Alex found himself wondering where a blue-blooded rich sonofabitch like himself would ever even meet a girl like her, let alone why he would start a relationship with her.

"Something wrong, baby?" She asked.

"No… Yes, I…" He studied her face for a moment, wondering why she didn't seem familiar to him in the least. "I'm still recovering." He finally said after a prolonged pause. "Please don't squeeze me so tightly."

"Well, poo." She pouted in a way that might have been attractive on another woman, but on her it just looked silly. She lowered her eyes and looked up at him through her mascara-laden lashes. Roxy whispered, "I was hoping we could ditch the suit, barricade ourselves in your room and think of something fun to do."

Well, that certainly wasn't subtle. At all.

"Some other time, maybe." Said Alex.

What he really wanted was to go outside. Not just out on the grounds, but out to the city. He thought about earlier that morning when he had been studying the Metropolis skyline so very intently looking for something… _red_. Alex wasn't quite sure what it was he was looking for, but he knew it would be up in the sky and it wasn't a bird or a plane and it was red. …Or mostly red. Maybe… some blue?

He looked back at Roxy. "How'd you get here?"

"I drove." She said as if this were the most obvious thing ever.

She had a car. Lex said he had taken away all of Alex's motorcycles (implying he had more than one? of course he did, he was a spoiled little rich-boy). Without a bike he was effectively immobilized and trapped on the Luthor property. But Roxy had a car. With Roxy he had a ride.

"Do you wanna give me a ride?" He asked.

"Yeah I do!" She gave him a leering smile.

Alex knew what she meant. The 'ride' she wanted to give him had nothing to do with cars (except maybe the backseat). But he honestly was not interested at the moment. Not _just_ because he had just gotten out of the hospital and didn't think he _could_ perform sexually at the moment, but also because he was preoccupied with why he couldn't seem to remember her or much of anything of his life before the accident and the things he _did_ remember seemed inconsistent with his current reality. That, and Alex didn't find her at all attractive.

So, he said, "Great. Thanks. Wait downstairs while I get dressed."

…

Tim got home late.

It was long after dark when he walked through his front door. Tired. Thirsty. Still itching from poison oak and bug bites. All he wanted to do was take one very _long_ hot shower. What he got instead was a greeting from a pair of police as they stood in his living room, paused in the act of explaining to his parents that they could not report their son missing until three days have passed.

Apparently, he had been out so late that his mother had panicked and called the police. This was _Gotham_ after all. Any number of horrifying things could happen to a child on the street.

He stood through a lecture from the GCPD, nodding along respectfully and promised not to worry his parents again when it was over. After they left, he endured a second, higher volume, lecture from both his parents about how much he worried them, how scared his mother had been, how irresponsible he was. How this wasn't like him at all. What were you thinking? You have a cell phone! Why didn't you call?

At the end of all of it, all Tim could do was stare at his dad and say, as if dumbfounded, "You're standing!"

To that comment, Tim could not decide if his father was more confused or infuriated. Equal parts, he decided.

They sent him to his room without dinner, Tim did not go directly to his room. Instead, he took the shower he so desired. As he scrubbed his poison oak rashes and bug bites he though about that thing he had lost and couldn't shake the feeling that it had something in it to put on his rashes and bites to make the itch go away. Like an ointment or a cream… maybe a spry? No. Not a spray. Aerosol cans were surprisingly volatile. They were a liability to carry with you on… on cases? Well, he did keep saying he was a detective.

Was the thing he lost some kind of detective kit? Or more likely a first-aid kit, considering he thought there was rash cream in it. Tim just didn't know.

When his shower was finished and he returned to his room, he once again found himself searching for it. Thought he already knew he wouldn't find it. Going beyond just looking in the closet and under the bed, he also pulled all his books off the shelves to check behind them, shifted his desk away from the wall to check behind that, same thing with his dresser and bedside table. He even climbed onto his chair to unscrew the light fixture to check there. After all, didn't people hide things like drugs and money in light fixtures? Why not a detective kit?

He didn't even get as far as the bulb before his father barged in.

"What in god's name are you doing in here?" Jack asked. His eyes made a quick scan of the room. Taking in the shifted furniture, the books thrown all over the place, the closet door open and shoes thrown out.

"I was just… looking." Tim replied, sheepish.

"Looking? For what?"

Tim looked long and hard at his father. Then he lowered his eyes and studied his bare feet resting on the seat of his chair. Finally, he answered, "I… I don't know."

…

Alex sat in the passenger side seat of Roxy's cotton-candy pink Mini Coup. The roads were still slick from yesterday's rain and they glistened with oil-rainbows when the light hit them. It was the single worst time to drive if you lived in a city, when the roads were wet enough to lift the grease up and reduce tractions, but not nearly wet enough to wash any of it away and actually _clean_ the streets.

Roxy seemed not to notice as she sped through the streets, passing yellow lights and blasting Eurythmics' song 'Sweet Dreams (Are Made of These)' on her stereo. The deep base beat in his chest, making his bibs throb with the rhythm.

Alex also ignored the reckless driving. He tilted his head and craned his neck to see the sky out the window. His attention focused up in the sky. He was looking for something. Something he usually took… _guidance_ from? …Or something like that. But it was incredibly frustrating looking for something when you didn't even know what it was you were looking for.

His neck hurt, and his back hurt and his ribs constantly reminded him that he had only just been released from the hospital the previous day. That still didn't seem right to him. He wasn't used to being injured. At least… he didn't think he was. He hadn't taken his medications the previous night or this morning. As much as he did _not_ appreciate having his entire body hurt like it had just been pulled through a meat-grinder, he appreciated the idea of introducing foreign chemicals into his body even less.

"So, where do you wanna go?" Roxy asked.

"Doesn't matter." He answered, eyes still fixed on the gray overcast sky. At least it wasn't raining anymore.

"Come one, AK, you're the one who wanted to go out. Where are we going?"

They were stopped at a red light and something moved out the corner of his eyes. Alex shifted his position to get a better view.

'_It's a bird._'

Disappointed he sighed. Massaging the sore muscles in his neck he cast his eyes around the street for inspiration. There was a newsstand on the sidewalk next to them. That sparked something in the back of his mind. It was indistinct and illusive, but it was something. Newspapers and an office… an office that published the paper… Or, something like that. He knew someone… or several someones, who worked at a paper.

"Newspaper." He said. "Take me to the local newspaper."

"A newspaper?" She blinked as the light turned green again and she accelerated harder than was safe on the wet asphalt. "You wanna brag about wiping out your bike?"

"No." Alex said flatly.

He offered no explanation. But he did return his attention to the sky outside. He had seen more movement and he once again found himself craning his neck to try and see it better. There. Up in the sky its…

'…_it's a plane_.'

He leaned back in his seat –disappointed.

The Metropolis Daily Star was an international newspaper based in Metropolis, Delaware with satellite publishing offices all over the world. Its office was one of the tallest buildings in the city, reaching almost as high in the sky as the monolithic Lex Corp Tower. Roxy pulled her car into the Daily Star's underground parking structure. There was an elevator that went from the parking strait to the lobby as well as every other floor in the building.

Alex ignored the elevator and walked back out onto the street.

He stood on the edge of the sidewalk, almost leaning backwards into the street, gazing up at the building, trying to see its roof. There should be something on top of it. Or, at least, he _thought_ there should be something on top of it. Something like… a globe? That was an absurd idea. What did globes have to do with stars?

'_Star… El…_'

That word… He had thought of it this morning too. What did it mean and what did it have to do with him?

Roxy appeared by his side. "You come here just to look at the building, baby?"

"No." He said, once again being short with her.

Alex brushed past her and stepped through the Star's revolving door. He stood in the lobby for a moment as if struck by déjà vu. He knew this place. He hadn't spent very much time in it, but he had been in it more often then just a casual visitor or informant. He knew someone who worked here and he knew them personally. Like a close friend or a… or a…

'…_or a brother.'_

That was ridiculous. He was an only child.

A woman sat at an elegant semi-circular concierge desk with a post-modern cut to it. It was this desk he approached with the confident swagger he felt a rich sonofabitch like him should have, though he did not feel it one bit. He leaned over the curved post-modern desk in a posture that seemed appropriate for flirting.

Throwing a lopsided smile on his face, he said, "Excuse me, I'm looking for someone who works here."

"Okay." She smiled warmly at him. "Are they expecting you?"

"No."

"I'll page them to see if they're in. What's their name?"

"His name is…" Here Alex paused. He didn't know anyone who worked at the Daily Star. At least, he didn't think he did. He was a Luthor. Reporters were like vultures to him. Not the sort he would usually fraternize with. But then again, Roxy wasn't exactly the sort one would expect a Luthor to be with either. Not much of his life made much sense it seemed. The woman stared up at him expectantly. She was still waiting on an answer. "…I don't know. I don't know his name."

Her smile turned patient and polite. The kind of smile customer service reps gave difficult clients right before they told them they couldn't have what they wanted. "But you're sure he works for this paper?"

No, he wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure he knew anyone who worked for any paper.

"Never mind." Alex waved dismissively. "Sorry to waste your time."

As he stepped back out the revolving doors –Roxy hot on his heels- he caught a flash of red out the corner of his eye and looked up. Red fabric wafting in the breeze. Mingled hope and relief surged through him as he looked up in the sky searching for that red thing he had just briefly glimpsed. That was it! He was sure of it. That red flying thing was what he had been looking for! A memory was forming, red and blue… a red cape draped over a blue form… It was a person… It was…

…It was just a flag.

A red flag hung from a short poll over the Daily Star's main entrance. It was one of many flags. One for every country in which the Star had a satellite publisher. The United States. England. France. Israel. Japan. China. It was the Chinese flag he saw out the corner of his eye. Red fabric wafting in the breeze. Alex felt like an idiot.

Roxy placed a hand on his shoulder. "You okay, baby?" She asked. "You're acting weird. You haven't been droppin' rocks without me, have you?"

He had no idea what that meant. But Alex was pretty sure that, with total honesty, he could say, "No."

He heaved a heavy sigh and ran both hands through his thick black hair. Something was wrong with him. He wasn't acting like himself. His father had said so. His girlfriend was saying so. The problem was, he had no idea how he was supposed to act. Everything… His home, his father, his life… it all seemed _familiar_ to him, but Alex couldn't shake the feeling that it just wasn't _right_. Like someone had swooped in and rewritten his life story, deleting his past and crafting a new one. The only problem was, this hypothetical omnipotent author had forgotten to hand him a copy of the revised script.

Above him the hazy gray clouds drifted slowly over the city. Why did he keep looking up? What did he expect to find? Look up in the sky! A bird! A plane! A wafting red flag! None of those things were unusual, exciting, or important. They were just everyday aspects of city-life. He was looking for something else. He _wanted_ something else.

"I'm tired, Roxy." He said. "Take me home."

All the way back to the Luthor Manor that damn song played on the car stereo. _'…everybody's lookin' for somethin'…_'

…

Legally speaking, they couldn't hold him.

The young John Doe claiming to be called 'Lagoon Boy' was not a danger to himself or anyone else (that they could tell). He was completely raving mad. But he was a harmless lunatic. …And he wanted to go. _Demanded_ it actually. With no legal grounds to hold him, the hospital was forced to discharge him.

The Lagoon Boy walked out wearing a set of cloths from the hospital gift store and carrying a set of papers that said he was –physically- healthy.

But he didn't care about that. He knew he wasn't healthy. He was _human_! He wasn't supposed to be human! He was atlantian. He was supposed to have scales. Beautiful blue scales… elegant, long fin-shaped ears… webbing between his fingers and toes… He was a creature bred for the water, the oceans, the open seas. Not a clumsy pink ape! A clumsy pink ape covered in _hair_! Yuk!

It didn't take a genius to know something was wrong.

He had asked the hospital several times to put him in contact with the League. But they had only insisted that there was no such thing as a 'Justice League'. If he was in some sort of trouble with the law then he should turn himself into the police. They are more lenient when you do that. If it's legal help you need then when you get out of here you can call an attorney, now please calm down or we'll be forced to restrain you.

So, no Justice League.

No fins. No scales. No League.

The Lagoon Boy began walking. He was intent to put as much distance between himself and the hospital as possible. While he walked, the former-atlantian pondered this most bizarre of occurrences. A parallel universe was possible. But seemed unlikely considering his human state. If he had been transported to another universe, he was fairly certain he would have retained his natural form rather than morphing into this… this _perversion_!

The next possibility was some kind of body switch. That would explain why he was in a human shape. But it didn't explain the absence of the League. Maybe it was both a parallel world _and_ a body swap. That could explain it. But that also seemed unlikely.

Magic, maybe? Sure. Why not. The rules for magic were different depending on what kind of magic you were dealing with and different things were possible and not possible depending on the kind of magic, its rules and the one doing the magicking. Five years ago, a group of evil sorcerers had gotten together and split the world in two. One Earth with nothing but adults and one world with nothing but children. Maybe something similar had happened here?

One world with no Justice League and another world that did have a League but didn't have… didn't have… a second Justice League…? No. A mini Justice League…? No… A… uh… Another group. A younger group. Like the Justice League but more… _subtle_ –covert! A group of superhero covert ops! That was it! He had been a member of that group! They were based in… somewhere on the coast. Farther north than he was now.

Okay. Lagoon Boy had a possible destination to try.

Somewhere on the shore, north of where he currently was. All he had to do was just swim up the coast until he found a spot that looked right! Except… he was human, and humans couldn't just swim up the coast like it was nothing. They couldn't breath under water or eat raw fish –at least, not without getting very sick.

So, getting there and finding it would be a bit trickier. He could still do it.

…


	4. I Know You

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Lucidity

Chapter Four: "I Know You"

Nightwing stepped out of the zetta-tube's golden glow. Striding up to where Mal stood surround by his array of holo-screens with the air of confidence and control every leader was expected to project. It was a confidence and control he did not actually feel. Not sense Mal had messaged him in the middle of dinner with Barbara (a dinner that took months of wheedling to finally get her to agree to without ending her sentence with the phrase '…as friends.') and told him that Superboy's squad seemed to have –for lack of a better descriptive verb- _disappeared_.

Dick did _not_ bite the inside of his cheek with tension when he thought about Tim and how devastated Bruce would be when he returned and learned that yet another Robin had been lost. Or Jack Drake. How would Tim's sudden disappearance –or possible death- be explained to his father and stepmother? Where was Kon? The Superboy was supposed to be squad leader. It was just an easy surveillance mission. How had they managed to get into trouble?

One thing. The Nightwing had pulled the Superboy aside after the briefing and asked him for one thing: Keep an eye on Robin. Instead, the whole squad up and falls off the radar. If he hadn't already fallen off the face of the planet, Dick would just _kill_ him.

–And La'gaan too. If the whole squad was missing then the Lagoon Boy was too. M'gann would be pissed and probably also want to kill the Superboy. Hm, best to keep this under the metaphorical hat until he had a better idea of just what exactly was going on. The last thing he needed was a pissed-off martian ridding his ass while he tried to figure this out.

"Okay, Mal, what do you mean 'they disappeared'?" He asked, entering the semi-circle of luminous floating screens.

"I mean," Mal began, "they have not checked-in in the last three hours. One hour, I can understand because its Kon, and he's never been much of a stickler for procedure. But after two hours I figured something was up. That's when I called you. –Why'd it take you so long to get here?"

"Not relevant." Dick's white eye-slits narrowed reprimandingly at the communications tech. "Do you have the recorded feeds from their comms up to the point where they fell off the grid?"

"Of course." He nodded. "Kon may not be much for procedure, but I am."

The appropriate screen was already up and waiting. All Mal did was flick a finger over one glowing immaterial button and the audio-feed began its playback. Three separate bars scrolled across the screen, each flashing 'History: Comm Link, Audio Only'. The recording began with a yawn. Always a good sign while on a mission –_sarcasm_.

Then Tim's voice played over the channel. "Um, to whoever's yawning… Do you know you're comm is on?"

"All of your comms should be on." The Superboy's voice grumbled in response. "This seems like as good a time as any for a status report."

"Nothing going on over here." The Robin replied.

"Figures." Grumbled the Superboy. "Lagoon Boy, how are things by the docs?"

Silence.

"Yo, La'gaan, you fall asleep on the job?"

Standing there in the haloed light of the holo-screens, Dick resisted the urge to face-palm. Kon had just given the atlantian the perfect set-up for 'Yeah, I'm so tired from banging your ex-girlfriend' come back. If this mission went south because those two couldn't work for one night without killing each other, _he_ was going to kill _them_!

"I'm under water." The Lagoon Boy's voice growled, as clear and understandable as everyone else's. "Can't talk under water."

"No you're not." Tim's voice scoffed.

"Who's side are you on!" La'gaan shot back.

Kon only growled low in the back of his throat. It wasn't so much an actual sound as it was a vibration picked up by his comm's sub-harmonic sensor.

"We're on a mission. There are no 'sides' on a mission! We're all on the same Team here."

"Enough." The Superboy's voice cut in. "Rob, if there's nothing going on your end, move to the west side. Lagoon Boy, get back in the water. I need to know the moment the boat arrives."

"I told you, I am in the water. Ya know, you're not much of a leader if you can't trust your people."

'_Oh, Kon, please don't say "you're not 'my people'"._' Dick pleaded silently. What had ever possessed him to send those two on a mission unsupervised? Right. It was supposed to be an easy mission. A real no-brainer with no action. Something to log some more experience for Tim and La'gaan and a way to force the Lagoon Boy and the Superboy to work together until they could separate their personal issue from their work. Apparently, it was not working.

"I. Can. See. You." Was Kon's flat reply. "You're sitting on the doc. …And now you're flipping me the bird. Oh, yeah, real mature!"

"Robin to squad leader." Tim's voice cut in before the Lagoon Boy could give a reply. "We've got activity by west loading doc. Two figures. Looks like… one man, one woman."

"Ugly and Whisper?" Kon asked.

"Negative. Wrong body-types. These two look more incline to the desk-jocky mad scientist persuasion." The Robin replied. "Besides, I thought Ugly and Whisper were still flying the veggie sails."

"Yeah, that's what Nightwing thought about Psimon."

"Noted."

"I'm moving to the west-side to help Rob." La'gaan said.

"Negative." The Superboy commanded. "Maintain current position. I need someone at the waterfront. Rob, keep an eye on the pair. Any suspicious behavior?"

"Negative. They're having a smoke."

"Of course they are…" Kon muttered. Then added with a groan. "Gawd, I hate surveillance. So damn boring."

Later, after everyone was rescued and the crisis was averted, Dick would be reviewing these recordings and identify the next words La'gaan spoke as the point where everything went wrong. It was the point where Kon, where the _team leader_, stopped paying attention.

"Well," Nightwing could practically hear the contemptuous smirk in the atlantian's voice. "If you think its so boring, why don't you just dump it and go home. I can take over for you."

"What's _that _supposed to mean!" The Superboy roared over the channel.

The two then launched into one of the most incomprehensible shouting matches Dick had ever heard. It was more than just an argument or a fight. It was a roe of titanic proportions not seen since biblical days. Their onslaughts were diverse, ranging from M'gann, to Team work, to deportment, to origin stories, to sexual prowess vs. virginity and everything else imaginable under sun and sea. Their attacks were vicious. Some of their insults even multi-lingual, with La'gann cursing in his home dialect and Kon flinging insult in every language Cadmus had programmed him with plus a few choice phrases in Kryptonese.

The fight ended only when both paused for breath at the same time and there was silence over the channel long enough for Kon to notice…

"Where's Robin?" There was a pause. "Team leader to Robin, please acknowledge."

There was only silence.

"Yo, Boy Wonder, you still awake?" La'gaan asked.

Still, Robin's comm remained silent. Then, on the Cave's tracking monitors, Nightwing saw the boy's comm signal disappear completely, Tim's audio bar suddenly flashing 'No Signal'.

"Something's wrong." Kon's voice was serious and grave, he was back in mission-mode, his argument with La'gaan momentarily placed on pause. "Lagoon Boy, you circle around the north end, I'll take the south. Meet in the middle."

The dialogue vanished. There was just the sound of movement. The soft slap of a wet webbed-foot over concrete. The rush of air and then a soft _ThUMP_ of the Superboy's jump and landing.

Kon exclaimed, "Robin!"

There were the sounds of a struggle. Various exclamations from various voices, not all of them La'gaan or Kon. Some other noises Dick couldn't recognize. La'gaan grunted then went quiet. Supey continued to grunt and snarl for several minuets after that, then there was a _jolt_ and the Superboy was also silenced.

A few minuets later, their comms also disappeared off the grid.

The glowing holo-screen flashed three separate sets of the words 'No Signal…' at them for several minuets before the Nightwing finally said, "Okay, turn it off."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and fought the urge to groan.

"Call in the rest of the Team." He ordered. "I need to put together a rescue squad. Recommend stealth suits."

…

Alex was supposed to know how to tie his own tie. He was pretty sure a blue-blooded sonofabitch like himself would have learned to tie a simple Half-Windsor at the same time he was learning to walk. …And yet, this was Alex's sixteenth try at it and all he seemed to get was a simple and unsightly square knot.

Happersen waited behind him, arms crossed over his chest. Not impatiently, just observing. "Your father's waiting for you downstairs."

"I'm aware of that." Alex snarled.

Happersen crossed the room and placed a hand on the young Luthor's shoulder, a silent request for the boy to turn around. When he did, Happersen untied Alex's square knot and began to tie a Half-Windsor for him. "You've been forgetting a lot since your accident."

It wasn't a question.

"So?"

"Oh, nothing. Just stating an observation." He brought the wide end of the tie over the narrow end and curled it under to the right. "Your father wants me to _discreetly_ arrange for you to see a specialist."

"I don't like people messing with my head!" Alex snarled with a sudden vehement passion, more than was necessary. He wasn't sure where such strong feelings had come from; all he knew was that he couldn't let anyone play in his brain.

Happersne paused, regarding the young Luthor for a moment. Then, as if nothing happened, he returned his attention to the tie. He said no more as he finished the Half-Windsor. When it was done, he slapped the boy on the shoulder as if they were old friends. "C'mon. We should have left an hour ago if we were gonna get to Gotham on time."

Ah, yes, to Gotham.

Fellow billionaire, well known philanthropist, Gotham Prince and (in his father's words) 'magnificent _idiot_' was hosting a charity dinner for… Actually, Alex wasn't sure his father had actually said what the dinner was supposed to benefit. Only that it was good public relations for Lex Corp to contribute. So, here he was, dressed in a monkey suit making his way down stairs to meet his very annoyed father to make the five-hour drive to a party that neither of them really wanted to attend.

'_I hate monkey suits…'_

Alex paused on the chessboard floor. D8. The space reserved for the king, a piece that could only move one space at a time. It was the most important piece on the board, take the king and you win the game. Yet, it could only move one space at a time. One thing at a time…

"Alex!" Lex snapped at him.

"Right. Coming." He followed his father out to the car.

…

Tim entered with a tray containing chicken soup and hot tea. He placed this on the bedside table for this mother to take at her convenience.

Janet Drake blew her nose into a soft lotion-filled tissue and looked up from where she lay bed-ridden with a cold. Red-nosed, pink-cheeked and slightly blurry-eyed, she smiled apologetically at he and Jack. "Sorry I can't go to the benefit tonight. Why don't you take Tim instead?"

"Take me where?" Young Drake blinked in confusion. This was the first he was hearing of any 'benefit' his parents planned to attend.

Jack straitened and cleared his throat. "It's a charity diner hosted by Mr. Wayne. I had bought two plates several weeks ago. Thought it would be good PR for the company."

"And the money benefits those in need, too, dear." Janet reminded him with a patient smile.

Tim wasn't listening anymore. His brain had stopped at 'hosted by Wayne'. For some reason unknown to him, every fiber of his being suddenly screamed at him to take his father up on the invitation, get inside Wayne Manor, speak to Mr. Wayne. He had no idea why. But Tim was confident that everything would just make so much more sense if he could just sit down and talk to Bruce Wayne.

"I'll go!" He said, with perhaps a bit more vigor than was necessary. Tim then dashed out of his parents bedroom, muttering a quick, "I'll just throw on my suit."

A quick shower, a change and a short drive (relatively short, Wayne Manor was technically outside of town) later Jack was handing his keys over to the valet while a footman, hired for the evening, helped Tim out of the front passenger seat.

Wayne Manor was a wash of lights and activity. It looked nothing like the dreary and foreboding old mansion it had seemed the previous day from the road. Now the driveway was lined with LED solar-lamps that cast a slight blue glow over everything that passed within their light. The front steps were lined with bright and cheerful looking floral arrangements in hues of red, yellow and green.

The doors were held open for them and the Drakes were shown into the formal ballroom. Ladies in elegant dresses stood with gentlemen in fine tailored suits, conversing on matters of finance, or social gossip –occasionally they were one and the same. The serving staff made regular circuits of the room, offering trays of hors d'oeuvre or fresh glasses of champagne. Tim found himself scanning the crowd for Bruce Wayne, but Gotham's richest citizen seemed to be playing least-in-sight at the moment.

Jack steered them to a group and began mingling. Tim recognized a few of the faces as business partners of his father's or owners of other companies that, while they were technically competition professionally, Jack counted among his friends in his personal life. Young Drake smiled as he was forced to endure their exclamations of, '_Oh, this young man here couldn't possibly be little Timmy!_', or '_My god, Jack, he'll be running the company before you know it._', or other such comments on how much he had grown since these people had seen him last. Tim grew very board very fast.

He once again scanned the room for Bruce Wayne. But his attention was caught by someone else just entering the ballroom. He was tall, a little over six feet, but young –sixteen, maybe. He was dressed in the same black suit and black tie as everyone else, but it seemed wrong on him to Tim's eyes. He imagined the boy in cargo-pants and a T-shirt, casual wear. But with combat boots, action wear. He didn't know where the idea came from, the same place his feeling that he needed to 'find' something came from, the same place his instinct to come here to Wayne Manor had come from. Something deep and subconscious that was acting on his conscious mind. –Like something out of a half-remembered dream.

Tim suddenly found himself disentangling himself from his father's group and crossing the room to the newcomer.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you!" He blurted out without thinking. Then instantly regretted it when he was fixed with a crystal-blue stare of utter bewilderment.

"Excuse me?" He asked, crystal eyes looking Tim over with a critical gaze that was as much a staple of a shrewd businessman as it was a hardened soldier. That was an odd comparison. (Tim wondered why he'd thought of it.) "Do I know you?"

"Sorry." Tim said, feeling very much the idiot. "You reminded me of someone… Someone I met in a dream. It's stupid. Sorry to bother you."

If there was a sudden flash of abstract recognition in those unearthly blue eyes, Tim didn't see it. He was already retreating. Behind him, he heard someone ask, "Alex, who was that?"

And then Alex's slow, almost thoughtful reply, "I'm not sure…"

'_Stupid!_' Tim reprimanded himself. '_Stupid, stupid, stupid!'_ What in the world could have possessed him to go up to a complete stranger and tell them they had met in a dream? Gawd! He must have sounded _insane_! Hopefully, because of his young age, 'Alex' would just think it was some stupid juvenile game and nothing more. One to many Disney movies.

Tim did not return to Jack Drake's side after his hasty retreat from his embarrassing outburst. Instead, he found himself wandering the halls of Wayne Manor. Thought he was pretty sure he'd never been inside the nearly ancient mansion before, Tim walked the corridors as if they were as familiar to him as those of his own home. He quickly found Wayne's personal study, a cozy room on the ground floor with a large bay window overlooking the back of the grounds. Tim looked out and down and saw the same cliff face he had stood before wondering what he was doing no more than one day ago. He suddenly felt like he had accomplished something simply be being in this room, like he'd made headway in the mystery that surrounded him.

There was something significant in this room. …Or about this room. He wasn't quite sure.

Tim cast a hesitant glance towards the desk. Mr. Wayne's private desk…

No. He would not riffle through Mr. Wayne's personal correspondences and business ventures. Besides, Tim felt that the answer to his puzzle wouldn't be found in there. He was looking for something else. In this room, yes. In the desk, no. He cast his eyes about, searching for something –anything- that stood out to him.

There was an old grandfather clock set against one wall. The old sort with a long pendulum that went _tock-tock_ like the beat of a heart. Except that this pendulum was still, the clock frozen. Tim crossed the room to it. Opening the small glass door of its front, he wrapped his fingers around the pendulums shaft and gave it a firm (but gentle, this was an antique) yank.

Nothing happened.

What did he expect? The clock to slide to the side and reveal a hidden passageway leading down into a deep dark secret cave?

'_Yes…_'

That was exactly what he had expected to happen. _Exactly_. The idea was absurd! And yet… as ridiculous as it was, it seemed _right_ to Tim. Like that is what should have happened and it was _wrong_ that it hadn't. But that was just another absurd idea! He tried to mentally reprimand himself for thinking something so utterly improbable. But he just couldn't. Tim believed in Occam's Razor –the simplest explanation is likely the right one. But in this case it just didn't _seem_ right.

He stood there, in front of the clock, contemplating his dilemma and his own stupidity until the Wayne family butler, Alfred Pennyworth, found him. The old man gave him a very polite but no less firm reprimand for straying from the party, worrying his father and tampering with a very old family heirloom of the Waynes'. All the while steering him out the room, down the corridor and back to the ballroom. He was reunited with his father, whom gave him a second, far less polished, reprimand and asked Mr. Pennyworth to apologize profusely to Mr. Wayne for him.

…

The actual dinner was held in the grand dinning room.

Alex barely noticed his food as each new course was placed in front of him and the remnants of the preceding one taken away. His attention was focused on studying another guest of the party. The boy whom had come up to him just as he and his father had been entered the manor sat at another table diagonally across from where he sat and –so long as the serving staff was out of the way- Alex had an unobstructed view of him.

Timothy Drake, he had learned, was the only son of an unremarkable local businessman here in Gotham. His father knew Bruce Wayne personally, but aside from that there was nothing overtly special about either of them. Tim did not _look_ familiar in the least. Alex was fairly confident he hadn't ever seen the boy's face before in his life. Yet, after the mention of reminding him of someone he met in a dream, Alex couldn't shake the feeling that he had _also_ met him in a half-remembered dream. He certainly seemed more familiar to the young Luthor than his so-called girlfriend had.

After dinner, the guest's all returned to the ballroom for more mingling and social gossip. A string quartet had set up on a temporary stage and a few couples occupied the center of the floor in a dance. Tim Drake stood on the opposite end of the room from him.

Alex lifted one hand and, from his perspective, covered the upper half of Tim's face. Yes. He did look familiar after all. It wasn't his whole face, just that nose, the mouth, that chin… Alex was sure he'd seen that half of face before. Somewhere… Once upon a dream? Ha! The notion was ridiculous! Better suited to adolescent girls swooning over a crush. Another life then? Yes, lets go with that. They had been acquainted in another life, and _that_ was the life that Alex was familiar with. That was the life he remembered –somewhat.

…And so, that was the reason why he suddenly found himself crossing the dance floor to tap young Timothy Drake on the shoulder.

Tim turned around and blinked up at him as if in shock that they were once again face-to-face after such an awkward first meeting. Alex wasted no time on pleasantries. His father always said such niceties were a superfluous chore that got in the way of real business, and for once, Alex was inclined to agree.

"That dream, tell me about it." He demanded with all the pompous entitlement of a true Luthor son.

"Uh, what?" Tim stuttered in dumbfounded amazement. His cheeks colored only _just_ noticeably and he lowered his eyes when he continued, "I don't want to. You'll think its stupid –or crazy."

"Or both." Alex agreed. "But I want to hear it anyway."

Across the room, on their temporary stage, the string quartet finished the set they had been playing and struck up a new tune. The waltz from Tchaikovsky's '_Spyashchaya Krasavitsa_' (more commonly know as the Sleeping Beauty Waltz). Tim and Alex failed to notice the music, however. They were preoccupied with other matters.

"Its so silly." Tim insisted. "I don't even remember most of it. There were these people in costumes, and… something to do with bats and birds… and justice."

"Missions." Alex blurted out suddenly.

"Yes…" Tim nodded slowly, an abstract memory gaining clarity and one small piece of this puzzle becoming better defined. "There was a group of us and we went on missions for… someone…"

"Your costume was red and black." Alex supplied, an image forming in his own mind. "You wore a mask, and when you weren't wearing your mask you wore dark glasses so that no one could get a good look at your face no matter what. …And a cape. You had a cape, too."

"And you… you didn't wear a costume." Tim's eyes closed, trying to remember. "But you did wear a symbol on your chest. In red. Like a… like an S inside of a triangle."

"Yes…" Alex breathed. It all sounded so _right_! With every word one spoke, the other remembered more. If they could just keep talking… together they might get a full picture. "My name, what was my name in the dream? I know I wasn't Alexander Luthor the Second."

"I don't know." Tim shook his head. "Do you know my name?"

"No…" Alex had to agree.

The ballroom waltz flowed around them. It was not the only sound in the room, but in the silence between the two men it managed to drown out all other conversations. _'…I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I know you, I know what you'll do. You'll (trust) me at once, the way you did once upon a dream…_'

"Do you have a card?" Tim asked suddenly. This was a charity event, but it was a charity event full of businessmen and what was the one thing all businessmen carried with them at all times besides their cell phones? Business cards.

Alex withdrew a silver case from his lapel and, opening it, produced a single calling card on expensive stock. This he handed to Tim.

"And a pen?" The boy added.

"Haven't got one." Said Alex.

"Alright, then I'll text you my number. We should stay in contact."

"Agreed."

Tim returned his attention to the card he held. "What does the K stand for?"

"Kent." Alex supplied.

"Kent…" Tim echoed. He gave Alex a good long, hard look. "May I call you 'Kent' instead of 'Alex'? It just seems… to _fit_ you better."

"I couldn't agree more… _Tim_." Kent nodded.

…


	5. There Is No Spoon

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Lucidity

Chapter Five: There Is No Spoon

His parents were beginning to grow concerned.

Tim was going out more often than was usual for him and staying out longer. After that first episode where they had called the police he always made a point of calling home to check in and assure them that he was okay, but that did not alleviate all their fears.

When asked where he was going all the time, all Tim would answer was, "Looking." For what, he never said. One time, distracted by putting on his shoes he had answered, "Patrol." in so natural and matter-of-fact voice that Janet had to pause and wonder. But the moment the word was out of his mouth, Tim froze. Looking up at nothing in particular with the oddest expression on his face –halfway between bewilderment and an epiphany. Almost like he both understood and yet was confused by the word that had escaped his lips.

He left quickly after that and did not return until late into the evening.

When he was home, Tim was always opening closets or looking under furniture. He would pull books off of shelves, open drawers and cupboards, shift the seat cushions or move the linins around. One time Janet discovered the ladder to the attic down and climbed it to find her son riffling through every single box, case, bag and tub they had stored up there. When asked what he was doing, all he said was, "Looking." In the exact same manner in which he answered the question of where he went when he left the house.

But it wasn't just at home.

This behavior continued at school. Tim began spending much of his passing periods rearranging his locker, doing his mysterious 'looking'. Not just his hall locker for his books, but his gym locker as well. He was late to PE more than once because of it. Searching the locker, looking under benches or in the bathroom stalls… One day, when he had missed over half the class, the coach had barged into the locker-room to find Tim unscrewing the showerheads from the walls. _That_ had gotten his parents a conference with the principal _and_ school psychologist.

Everyone who knew him personally was concerned. This was not how Timothy Drake normally acted. Tim Drake was a model student. Calm, quiet, always finished his homework on time, the work was correct and showed a level of thought several grade-levels higher than was expected, he was polite to the faculty and staff, and got along well enough with his fellow students. There were, of course, the occasional problems with bullies, but that was only natural for a child of Tim's intelligence and studious inclinations. To find him vandalizing school property was unimaginable.

The school psychologist recommended talking sessions with Tim every week to explore why he felt the need to 'find' something and decide whether this behavior was a symptom of some deeper psychological disorder or simply a young teen acting out. His parents readily agreed. Once a week during his lunch period, Tim was to report to the councilor's office to talk. It was also recommended that his parents put a stop to his solitary excursions from home, at least, until they had a better idea of what was going on with him. After all, they only wanted what was best for him.

That night, Tim began sneaking out his bedroom window instead.

His bedroom window was conveniently located over his mother's rose garden. This was convenient because she had erected tresses for her climbing roses up the side of the house, reaching almost up to the storm gutter. One such of these tresses was right next to Tim's window and made an adequate handhold for climbing.

He wore good quality gloves to protect his hands, but thin ones (as thin as possible) so that they would impede his ability to feel as little as possible. A long sleeved shirt –also for protection- in an impractical shade of red. Over this, he threw on a sweatshirt with a black hood. Thought jeans protected his legs. But over his feet he wore water-shoes. They were softer and more pliant than regular shoes and because they were designed to be worn in the water, had better traction too –better for climbing. He did not cover his face, he wasn't doing anything illegal –unless defying his parents wishes had recently become a criminal offence. There was no _reason_ to hide his eyes. Yet, Tim slipped a pair of dark sunshades into his pocket every night before he snuck out.

Just in case.

…

Just as he said he would, Happersen arranged for Alex (whom had begun to refer to himself as 'Kent' more and more in his own mind) to see a specialist for memory loss.

He sat in the waiting room, doodling in a science magazine over an article about cloning. The same symbol over and over again. An S inside a triangle. I had sounded so right when Tim Drake had said it, but when Kent tried to draw it out later it just didn't _look_ right. He tried several different kinds of triangles, equilateral, isosceles, scalene… none of them seemed right. But Kent kept trying.

Now he was trying something new. Doodling over the cloning article with the pen he failed to return to the receptionist, Kent cut two of the corners off the triangle, making it more of an oddly proportioned pentagon with an S in the center. That seemed closer. Not quite right just yet, but closer. He was determined to figure this out. The symbol was important to him somewhow. Almost like a… like an ID badge? No… more like a membership stamp. No… that wasn't right either… A family crest maybe?

'_El… star…_'

No. The Luthor family crest was an L. A stylized version of an L, but still just an L. No fancy pentagons or other shapes and symbols thrown in. It was simple. Iconic. Self-explanatory. It stood for the family Luthor. It was also the Lex Corp logo.

This S also stood for a family. But the family name didn't start with the letter S. No, it was just a coincidence that it resembled an S. This symbol meant something else. Something big… and ancient… spanning generations… and… _light-years_…? No. That was just plain silly. Yet, Kent did not stop doodling his symbol. When the page was filled with S upon S inside its pentagon, he flipped to a new article (this one on gene-splicing –human DNA into other things) and continued drawing. He finally did stop only when he was called in for an MRI.

It was as Kent was laying down in the MRI machine that he found himself good and truly relaxed for the first time since waking in the hospital some time ago and while it didn't exactly _surprise_ him, it was a bit of a realization. He hadn't known he was anxious.

Before laying down on the slab and being reeled into the machine's tunnel, the techs lectured him on how claustrophobia was common with this procedure. Here's a panic-button. There's a slanted mirror that'll let you look out so you don't get so scare. Blah. Blah. Blah. But the moment Kent was actually in the machine's tunnel he became calm rather than agitated. He liked the tight enclosed space. It reminded him of something. Something he was used to. He ignored the mirror over his head and the panic-button in his hands and just focused on how _secure_ he felt being completely enclosed in a tight tube of metal and plastic. It almost felt like… _home_?

That was silly.

…

Gotham was a rather dense city, many of its buildings were uncomfortably close together. Close enough for neighbors in opposite-facing buildings to pass cups of sugar, wads of cash or bags of dope to each other over the alley. They were also close enough together for a spry and limber person to jump from rooftop to rooftop. …And that is exactly what Tim tried his best to do.

Keeping above the streets where he would both have a better vantage point to see, but also was less likely to _be_ seen by others. It felt so natural and comfortable to cling to the roofs and fire escapes but Tim couldn't understand why. He was sure he'd never done anything like this before. Heck! He wasn't even fully sure what he was actually _doing_! It was crazy. Sneaking out of the house after dark to stalk the roofs and back alleys of Gotham's meaner neighborhoods. It was the sort of thing dark and broody vigilantes did in movies or comics. He should go home. He never should have gone out in the first place. That would have been the smart thing.

Tim ignored his voice of reason, its advice didn't feel right. Instead he peered down the street. Below a woman was walking alone. She wore an old and patched jacket that looked like it might have at one time been of high quality, over a simple collard shirt and blue-jeans. Over one shoulder was a well worn and scuffed purse that hung from a mismatched strap. In one hand she carried a simply witnessing apron, in the other hand her keys were clutched between the fingers of her fist. She walked with the cautious confidence of one who knew how dangerous an area could be, but was used to it. This was probably her neighborhood, and was on her way home from work.

On the opposite side of the street, two men paused in whatever conversation they had been having and crossed to intercept her.

Watching from his rooftop vantage point, Tim's hands drifted to his belt of their own accord. Or rather, they drifted to the empty belt-loops of his jeans. Tim wore no belt. Even if he had been, what would he carry on it? What was he reaching for?

"Hey, baby." Voices from the sidewalk below returned Tim's attention to the woman and two new men. "This's a dangerous part o' town. Pretty thing like ya shouldn't be out alone. Why don' cha' let me and my buddy walk ya home?"

She did not say anything in response; the woman just continued walking –walking much faster than she had been previously, her fist clutched around her keys, her elbow bent as if in readiness for a strike. The rubber soles of her shoes making the slightest of _tump tump tump_ sounds on the sidewalk, the soft sound made all the louder by the otherwise silent and empty night.

"Hey." The second man placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back to face them. "Ma buddy was just tryin' ta be nice, lady. The least ya could do would be nice ta us in return."

There was a startled gasp from her before she brought her keys up and landed a punch across his lower jaw, leaving behind two jagged and painful gashes.

"_You bitch_!"

It was then that everything exploded in a range of motions. The two men grabbed the woman and forced her against the faux brick face of the nearest building. She screamed, and kicked, and flailed, struggling madly against her attackers. Up and down the street, windows were shut and lights turned off –no one wanted to get involved in whatever was happening on the street below. But Tim was going to get involved.

A weapon, he needed a weapon. Something long… like a poll, no, a _staff_!

Tim didn't have a staff with him. There was a broken segment of lead pipe on the roof he perched on, but it was a little to short, rusted and the end was sharp and jagged. He'd be just as likely to kill someone with it as incapacitate them. A throwing weapon then. He needed something to throw. Like a ninja star or a small curved blade… Tim didn't have anything like that with him. Where would someone even _get_ something like that? He noticed that his hands were once again resting on his empty belt loops and he instead moved them to feel around him for something small enough to throw. His hand closed around a bent and slightly rusted spoon. He lobbed it at the closer of the two men.

It struck the top of his head. Tim had been aiming for his ear.

The assailant paused, turning to look for the projectile's source. He failed to see Tim in his dark sweatshirt crouching on the roof. The momentary distraction was all the woman needed slam her knee into the other man's groin. He groaned in pain, letting go of her and stumbling backwards. She didn't wait to see what had happened or where her aid had come from. The moment she was free, the woman took off running and did not stop running until she had safely barricaded herself in her apartment.

Tim, meanwhile, ducked down behind the concrete barrier that ran the perimeter of the roof he was on. It was short, but from the vantage point the two thugs were looking that didn't matter. It was more than enough to obscure his small form. He waited until he heard one of them curse and then two pairs of feet fading into the distance. He counted to ten after the sound had disappeared just to make sure they were good and truly gone before getting back up.

He stood at the edge of the roof, looking –not down into the street- but out over the city. That felt good. Helping that woman. Stopping those thugs. More than good, it felt _right_! Natural. The city lights twinkled back at him, bright against the dingy buildings. Bats and birds… He didn't know their significance, only that they _were_ significant, and they had something to do with what he had just done. Helping people. Stopping thugs. Costumes…

'_You wore a mask…_'

Tim withdrew his sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them on. It was far to dark for them to be practical. If he was going to continue his nighttime prowling and obscure his face, he would need something else. Something like a mask… A small one, something that covered just enough of his face to obscure his identity but wouldn't get in his way.

…

'_The effects are beginning to wear off…'_

'_Which subject?'_

'_The kryptonian.'_

'_Figures… record his numbers and then increase his SDI by point zero four. …That's the thing when working with aliens, you never know what they'll do…'_

Someone was shaking him.

Kent's eyes snapped open with a jolt. Two radiology techs in nurse's scrubs stood over him. Quickly, he grabbed the arm of the one nearest him and demanded, "What did you do to me! What's SDI? Who's an alien? What's a 'kryptonian'?"

The two exchanged a confused glance of concern before the one Kent held in his grasp said –in the tone they are trained to use on volatile patients, "Mr. Luthor, you fell asleep in the scanning tube." He tried to pry his arm free with little success. "I can assure you I have no idea what you're talking about. While you were out you entered a tonic REM cycle, perhaps you were dreaming."

Kent loosened his grip. A dream. A weird dream. Of course… That made sense. He placed a hand to his head. For some reason, Kent suddenly felt dizzy. He tried to sit up and instantly regretted the motion, but did it anyway. He didn't want to be laying down anymore. He didn't want to be in a vulnerable position.

Vulnerable… Why would he think he was vulnerable? He was in a hospital. He should feel safe. They were in the business of fixing people here, not breaking them. And besides, if anything did happen to him, his father would see to it that everyone who worked here from the senior partners to the interning nurses all lost their licenses. His father…

"What did you call me?" Kent looked at the tech who now sported four finger-print shaped bruises on his arm.

"Mr. Luthor…" He answered hesitantly.

"Do not call me that, _ever_!" Kent snarled. He still wasn't sure why held so much animosity towards his father. Since waking up from his motorcycle accident Lex had been nothing but concerned (if perhaps a tad impatient with his memory problems). So, from where did this feeling of near loathing come?

Kent pondered that question as he slipped back into his street clothes. Happersen met him in the waiting room; he did not mention any of his ponderings to the man. He was in Lex's pocket and so could not be fully trusted. Instead, Kent snatched up the magazine he'd been doodling in and, shoving into Happersen's hands, said, "I'd like to have a suit made with this symbol on it. I want it in red. Can you make it happen?"

Happersen gave the doodles the barest of glances. "I'm sure I can." A pause. "What's the S supposed to stand for?"

Kent still wasn't exactly sure. "None of your damn business!"

"O… 'kay… What kind of suit?"

…

Tim did not return home that night until it was technically morning. The sun had not yet begun to crown the buildings, but the sky was lightening. From a dark and inky blue to a lighter shade a navy.

He climbed up the same rose-tress he used to get down just earlier that night. His window had been left open and she swung one leg in, followed by the other, then the rest of his body.

Tim pulled off this shoes, striped down to his tighty-whiteies, pulled on a pair of PJ-pants and threw his 'patrol' cloths in the back of his closet before crawling into bed. If he was lucky, he could grab a couple hours of sleep before his mother came in to wake him for school. The last thing he did before hitting the pillow was text Kent.

Tonight had been a good night. He's saved a woman from getting mugged (or possibly worse) and in so doing, felt like he had just solved a huge piece of the puzzle. But he couldn't quite form the words to explain it. He understood that progress had been made, a step closer to understanding had been taken. But it was still an abstract understanding. He needed Kent to help him make more sense of it. For some reason, all he had to do was talk with the young Luthor heir and things seemed to just become so much clearer. And Tim was pretty sure the same was true for him as well.

…

Lagoon Boy thanked the latest driver that had been kind enough to pick him up off the side of the highway and give him a ride. He had been hitchhiking for days, slowly working his way up the Eastern Seaboard on his way to Rhode Island. But now he was finally here.

…Or, at least, he was pretty sure he was here. Truth be told, the Lagoon Boy was still a little fuzzy on where and what 'here' was. But whatever it was, he had reached it. Of that he was sure!

The former atlantian studied the landscape before him, the foot of a small mountain climbing up from the side of the highway into a steep looking and heavily wooded peak. There was an entrance into the mountain somewhere on those foresty slopes. And inside the mountain there was… there was… his home? …a base? _Both_? Maybe. Lagoon Boy still wasn't quite sure, but he would only find out one way.

With a dejected sigh, the former atlantian began to trudge up the overgrown slopes.

He didn't know how long he had been hiking on the ill-maintained trails or trudging through the thick underbrush when he went off trail. Lagoon Boy couldn't say he had gotten lost exactly because that would imply that he knew where he was to begin with. But he was sure that he had crossed his own path at least twice before he finally found himself in a spot that felt about right.

It was a small clearing. Just a patch of grass between the trees at the foot of a large rock formation. But this spot was the entrance. Or, at least, he felt it _should_ be the entrance. How to get it to open was the question.

The former atlantian took a deep breath and said, "Lagoon Boy, B-10."

Nothing happened.

Of course, why would anything happen? Still, to spite the part of his brain telling him he was being foolish and wasting his time, he tried again. "Emergency override: H-Q-Y-J slash S-O-S. Lagoon Boy, B-10!"

Still, nothing happened.

He couldn't understand what he was doing wrong. Maybe the people at the hospital were right. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe there was no Justice League, or Atlantis, or Aquaman, or covert Team… Maybe it was all just in his head. After all, he was clearly human, not a fish-man.

…But if that were true, then why didn't he remember ever actually _being_ human prior to waking up naked on the beach a few days ago?

Some things just weren't adding up. He might be crazy, but he might also been a teenaged half-fish superhero under so sort of mind-control or other enemy influence that made him think he was in a human in a world of humans with no League, no King and no Team. For all he knew, he could be laying on a table somewhere in a bad guy's lair, drooling and snoring. How did he know any of this he was going through right now was real?

'_There is no spoon._'

Like in that movie. He had watched a movie on movie night with… a girl. A girl he liked… a lot. And she liked him too… But the movie they watched, it was about these people who found out the world they lived in was just a dream created by these evil machine overlords that were using them as batteries (or something). The dream world felt so real that they didn't know it was fake until they took a pill. Lagoon Boy remembered thinking how silly is all sounded, but the girl he was with… the girl he'd been cuddling with… she had mind powers and she said… she said… something…

That it was really possible? Difficult, but possible…?

Could that be what was going on here?

Was that what was happening?

Was that why everything was so wrong?

'_There is no spoon._'

Was none of this real?

…


	6. TinFoil Hats for Three

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Lucidity

Chapter Six: Tin-Foil Hats For Three

Nightwing crouched in the wide alleyway behind the building's west loading doc. Earlier in the week he had received intel from a source of inconsistent reliability that the Light or their mysterious partner (or partner_s) _were moving kidnapped kids through one of the warehouses by the docs. Superboy, Robin and Lagoon Boy had been tasked with casing out the building and its connecting doc to see if this was true and then report back so that a mission to intercept and stop them could be organized. It was just supposed to be a reconnaissance mission –simple surveillance. They were _not_ supposed to engage the enemy.

Clearly, something had happened to change that.

By their comm recordings the Nightwing knew that this was the last place they were before all three had gone offline. The alley behind the west loading doc. There had been a struggle. Even if Dick hadn't listened to the recorded feeds, it was obvious to tell the moment he arrived on the scene.

Several robinrangs were lodged in the garage-door's aluminum siding, the large industrial garbage bin was turned over, its refuse spread over the ground. The asphalt was fracture with spider-web cracks, no doubt made by Superboy or something powerful enough to challenge the demi-kryptonian. Nightwing knelt down to pick something up from one of the small craters. A JLA-issue comm unit. The ear bud was broken, its inner circuitry exposed and falling out of the casing, the tiny wiring was both constricted and frayed. Well, that at least explained why _one_ of them had gone offline.

Bumblebee buzzed up to his ear, "I did a quick sweep of the building but couldn't find anything. Whoever took the others, they didn't hang around."

The Nightwing gave the barest of nods to indicate he'd heard her and fought the urge to swat at his ear. The buzzing of her wings was irritating but Karen would take offence if he allowed himself to involuntarily swat her, it was a natural human reaction but it still pissed her off. Instead, Dick returned his attention to the ally in which he crouched. There were no skid marks on the asphalt, so if the enemy had made their retreat by car or truck, it had not been a hasty one. However, the Nightwing also could not see any fresh tire treads and in the thick grime and refuse of the alley, there should have been.

That meant they had probably left from the docs –by boat. Slightly harder to track.

He stood and tapped his comm, "Nightwing to Beetle, anything along the perimeter?"

"That would be a _negativo_, Boss-Bird." Jaime's voice answered back.

Dick heaved a sigh. He had figured as much. That was alright, he had set-up this rescue team with that possibility in mind. If the human members of the Team couldn't find a way of tracking either the missing squad or their captors, there were always the non-human members to pick-up the slack. Nightwing once again flicked his comm. "Sphere, can you bring Wolf down here?"

The kobra-venom enhanced wolf was serious faced as he hopped off of the Super-Cycle. His amber eyes took in the whole ally, including the humans that occupied it and his nose twitched with the cornucopia of smells that wafted through out it. More smells than Dick could ever detect.

The Nightwing patted the Wolf on the head with something between affection and comradery. "Go find your Alpha."

Wolf gave a soft growl of affirmative and took off trotting towards the doc. Nightwing and Bumblebee following after him on Sphere with Blue Beetle meeting up with them outside the alley.

…

Kent pulled his motorcycle into the parking lot of the small roadside bed and breakfast. It had been a long fight between himself and his father to let him have a motorcycle, even if he did swear it was just for simple transportation. Lex was convinced that he'd just have another spill that would land him right back in the hospital. That story still sounded ridiculous to Kent. He just didn't think needless risks like that were in his character-type. Risks, sure. But _needless_ risks, no. Definitely not. In the end Lex had given in, if for no other reason than to get the irate teenager out of his office so that he could back to work ruling Lex Corp… or taking over the world. Kent wasn't exactly sure which he found the most believable.

So, he had gotten his motorcycle back. He now had a means of transportation –a means of getting to a planned rendezvous with Timothy Drake.

The two had stayed in contact after the party at Wayne Manor, mostly texting but sometimes calling when they both were available to talk. The more they communicated with one another the more each of them remembered about their shared 'dream'. Both were by now convinced that it had not been a simple dream. What they couldn't figure out was what it actually was and why they seemed to share it when other figures from the dream like Lex or Wayne didn't. Could it have been a vision? A past life? A premonition? They just didn't know.

That was what brought them to this meeting.

It had been Tim's idea. Texting and the occasional phone call was great and all, but the young Drake insisted that if they were going to truly get down to the bottom of this they both needed to set aside some real time to sit back down with each other in person and work out what they remembered to complete the puzzle. Tim had found the B & B just off the interstate. It was an almost equal distance between both Metropolis and Gotham (closer to Gotham). Close enough for Kent to ride his bike to, and close enough for Tim to take a cab to (Kent had promised him a ride back to Gotham). Tim made the reservations. Kent paid. One room, two twin beds.

Tim was already there and waiting in the lobby when Kent walked in, pulling off his riding gloves and tucking them into his helmet. Sitting in the corner of the room, a backpack resting at his feet, his back to the wall, chair positioned in a way that let him casually watch both the front door and the stairs leading up to the guestrooms. He gave Kent the slightest of nods when he entered and stood to meet him. He couldn't check in without Kent's credit card.

The two were shown to their room.

Tim put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the knob and locked the door behind them. He pulled off his backpack and withdrew from it his laptop computer, and several maps. These he laid out over one of the twin beds, overlapping them as needed. When he was done the entire bed was covered in a paper version of the continental United States. The computer was set-up on the bedside table, he unplugged the lamp in order to plug in the computer's power. In a matter of seconds, Tim had converted the small hotel room into a makeshift (almost military-esque) command center. Kent stood, watching it all unfold with admiration. Tim might be young, but he knew what he was doing!

"Okay," Tim began, commanding the older man's attention. "Have you remembered anything new since the last time we talked?"

From his back pocket Kent withdrew a piece of paper one which he had doodled in red colored pencil –what he decided- was an accurate version of his symbol. An upside-down triangle with the top two corners cut off turning it into an oddly proportioned pentagon with an S in the center. He showed it Tim. "This is my symbol. I know it looks like an S, but I think it actually stands for 'El'."

"That's weird." The younger boy commented. He took the page from him and studied it for a moment. "Are you sure it doesn't stand for anything else…?" He traced the S with his index finger. "S… Sss… Supes… Supey… Super." He looked up at Kent suddenly. "_Superboy_!"

"_Robin!"_ The older boy responded almost automatically –as if without even thinking.

"Those were our names." Tim breathed. "You were Superboy and I was Robin… they were our codenames… for when we went on missions with the Team!"

The two stared at each other for a long moment after that. The different fragments in their minds moving and shifting to form a more complete picture. The pieces of their shared puzzle gaining clarity and definition as more and more of it was solved. Kent turned his attention to the maps spread out over the bed. His finger fell over the state of Rhode Island.

"Here." He said. "Our Team was based here. But I'm not sure where exactly. On the coast I think. There… was a beach…"

"I think you're right." Tim nodded, closing his eyes. There was a prolonged pause, and then, "We were on a mission before… before we couldn't remember anything. It wasn't the whole Team, just three of us. You, me, and… someone else…"

Kent was silent for a moment; his eyes also closed now, his brows knit in concentration. "I think… I think _I_ was supposed to be in charge of that mission. I was our… '_squad leader'_. Does that-" He opened his eyes and looked at Tim almost pleadingly. "-Does that mean that this –whatever happened to us- if my fault? If I was the one in charge…?"

"I think it's a little early to be jumping to that conclusion." The boy assured him. "All the facts aren't in yet, we don't have a clear picture of what happened to us. For all we know, it could have been unpreventable –what happened to us. Just because you were leader doesn't mean it's your fault." He turned his attention to the computer and opened Google Earth, zeroing in on the coast of Rhode Island. "Right now, lets just figure out where our base was and how to get there from here."

"Okay." Kent agreed, subdued. He stood behind Tim, looking over his shoulder. "I can't even remember who the other person in our squad was. I was leader… I should know…"

"Don't worry. We'll figure it out. We know he exists –or, at least, existed- for now that'll have to be good enough. Lets focus on finding our base right now. We'll do this one thing at a time until we've got it all figured out."

'_One thing at a time… One space at a time…_' For some insane and utterly irrational reason, Kent felt like he was standing back in the entrance hall at Luthor Manor. Standing on a white tile on the edge of the chessboard-floor. A space reserved for the King, a piece that could only more one space at a time… one thing at a time… "No." He said suddenly. "Let's multi-task. We can still talk and try to figure out who our third squad member was while we study the map."

"O…kay…" Tim shrugged slowly. "What can you remember about him?"

"Well, he was… uh… I think he had…" Kent paused, his eyes falling dejectedly to study his feet while Tim's attention was turned back to the Google Earth maps. Kent thought. Thought really hard. He didn't remember much of anything about their other Teammate, except, maybe… "…I don't think he and I got along very well. There was a sore subject between us, but… but I'm not sure what it was exactly. It was a personal issue –that much I know- it didn't have anything to do with the mission."

Tim made a noise to show that he was listening and had heard him, but the younger boy did not comment. His attention was focused back on studying the satellite images of the Atlantic Corridor provided by Google. He zoomed in on an area. Decided it wasn't familiar enough. Scrolled up. Changed his mind and scrolled down instead. Finally he paused, turning to his companion, Tim asked, "Does this stretch of coast look familiar to you?"

Kent leaned over the boy's shoulder to get a better look at the image. "I think so… What town is that?"

"According to Google, it's called Happy Harbor."

Kent turned back to the paper maps Tim had spread over the bed. He lifted up the one for the Atlantic Corridor. After studying it for a moment or two he said, "We can take the 95 freeway to state road 138… Looks like it'll be about a seven hour drive…"

"I guess we'll have to wait until tomorrow then and get an early start." Tim mused. "If we set out right now it would be almost midnight by the time we got there."

"Sounds like a plan." Kent flopped down on the second bed, the one that wasn't covered in maps and papers, and began pulling off his boots.

"You're going to bed?" Asked Tim.

"I'll be driving and if we're getting up at shit-faced o' clock I'm gonna be needing my sleep." He shimmied under the covers and a few moments later threw his pants on to the floor next to the bed, followed soon by his shirt. "You don't mind me just wearing my underwear, do you?"

…

With no money, credit cards or ID, Lagoon Boy was forced to find alternative options for housing over the nights. He had found a great appreciation for cardboard and newspapers. They made great insulation and kept him arm through out the night (provided it didn't rain). Last night found the former atlantian sleeping on a bench on the edge of a public park. At least, until a policeman on his morning rounds woke him up and chased him away. So, the Lagoon Boy spent his morning walking the streets of Happy Harbor aimlessly.

It was as the morning was on the cusp of noon that he was them.

The pair was walking out of a Starbucks, coffee in hand. He didn't recognize the shorter one, not really. He just seemed… familiar, and when he slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses he became _very_ familiar. But the taller one, that one he knew. Lagoon Boy couldn't quite place a name, but he knew that face, that dark hair, those blue eyes… The Lagoon Boy knew him and instantly disliked him. But at the same time, could not have been happier to see him –both of them, either of them. He watched them mount a motorcycle and speed off in the general direction of the mountain and his feeling of relief increased. They had come looking for the base same as he had.

Lagoon Boy had no chance of following them if they were riding a motorcycle and he was on foot, but he knew where they were going and he had spent the last few days exploring the mountain and neighboring town. He knew a short cut to the small clearing and could meet them there.

…

Kent kicked at the grass in irritation.

"I don't get it." He said. "This feels right, but there's nothing here."

They stood in a small clearing, just a patch of grass between the trees at the foot of a large rock formation. But both Tim and Kent had felt that this spot was the entrance to their Team's base. Or, at least, they felt it _should_ be the entrance. But there was nothing here. Nothing beyond the normal foliage and shrubbery one would expect to find on a forested mountainside.

"I'm sure the entrance is a secret." Tim assured him. "There's got to be a code or something to open it. Try saying your alias. If you were Team leader, its more likely that whatever security system we have would recognize you over me."

Kent wasn't really sure about that. Over the weekend thus far, Tim have proved to be a much cleverer and more competent leader than he had –to spite his young age. Still, it was worth a try. The older boy cleared his throat and said, "Superboy!"

Nothing happened.

He hadn't expected anything, but that didn't mean that he wasn't still disappointed. He looked to Tim whom just gave him a prompting look, as if silently urging him to continue. So, Kent tried again. "Superboy says open sesame."

Tim snorted.

Nothing continued to happen.

"Superboy, B-04." He wasn't sure where that number had come from, it just popped into his head and seemed right for some reason.

But still, nothing happened.

Kent heaved a dejected sigh, his shoulders slumping. This had been a wasted trip and an exercise in futility. Beside him, Tim placed a comforting hand on his shoulder but said nothing. The younger boy was just as disappointed as he was. They both had thought they'd made such progress by coming here, like they had almost figured everything out and it would all make sense soon. But no. This had been just another dead end. No words needed to be exchanged between the two to express their frustrations, they both already knew because they both held the same feeling.

There was a rustle in the bushes to their left –to clumsy sounding to be an animal- and Kent moved to place himself between Tim and the source of the noise. Of the two of them, he was the larger and so (theoretically) better equipped to fend off an attacker.

Attacker…? Where did that idea come from? Where did any of these almost 'instincts' come from? Defend. Protect. On alert or even feeling _vulnerable_ when they should be safe… It was like the both of them had some sort of conditioning that neither could have gotten in their normal lives. Not as the spoiled only child of the richest man in Metropolis and not as the only son of a well-off business man and his wife living in a safe (by Gotham standards) suburban neighborhood. They had almost military conditioning, yet lived civilian lives of comfort and security. So… from where did these instincts come…?

The source of the rustling was revealed to be another boy. Around Kent's age, his clothing was scuffed and dirty as he was and he looked to have been living on the streets for some time. Neither Kent nor Tim recognized him, but there was that feeling of vague familiarity about him.

"It won't work." He said. "I already tried. It not like its 'gone', exactly. More like it never existed in the first place. The Cave… the League… they don't exist in this world."

"The 'League'?" Kent asked.

While at the exact same time, Tim echoed, "'This world'…?"

The stranger nodded. "It took me a while, but I figured it out. None of this is real! It all fake. I haven't gotten all the details strait, but this… whatever this is… its not real. Its some sort of mind-control or synthetic dream. We're not really here. We're somewhere else where they've got us strapped down and unconscious and this is what we're seeing while we're out."

There was a beat of silence following this.

Then, Tim said, "Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?"

"_I'm not crazy!" _The newcomer snarled.

Kent took a single cautious step back, pushing Tim behind him. He didn't know why, but there was something he just didn't like about this guy. That is, something he didn't like aside from the fact that he had come out of nowhere and was spouting ridiculous conspiracy theories better suited for the Brotherhood of Tin-Foil Hats rather than any sort of rational group of people (not that anything he and Tim had done in the past two days had been exactly 'rational' either). But this other dislike of the new boy came from that same abstract feeling of familiarity had, and so Kent asked the only question that made sense.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the Lagoon Boy."

"Lagoon Boy!" Tim exclaimed from around Kent's overprotective arm. "You're him. You're the third member of our squad!"

Well, they hadn't found their base, but they did recover the missing third member of their squad. Perhaps this weekend hadn't been a complete waste of their time and efforts. They had found each other and now that the three of them were together again they could figure this out and gain some version of a conclusion. At least, that's what Kent hoped would happen. Of course, it could also turn out that all three of them were just completely off their respective rockers. Lex and Happersen both seemed to think that Kent had some version of mental damage from his accident and Tim had mentioned that his parents were sending him to a psychologist for his behaviors… Now this 'Lagoon Boy' shows up spouting his utterly ridiculous theory as if its gospel truth. The most likely outcome was that they was all insane.

But… at the same time, they couldn't all three share the same delusion… could they?

…


	7. A Shot in the Dark

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Lucidity

Chapter Seven: A Shot in the Dark

"Aright, Lagoon Boy, lets get one thing strait: I don't like you. I don't know why, but something about you just rubs me the wrong way." Kent the 'Superboy' glared at the street urchin who called himself 'Lagoon Boy' and claimed to be a member of their Team. (Admittedly, Tim 'Robin' had been the one to actually say it out loud.) "That being said, this will be your room until we figure the rest of this out. My father's almost never home, but Happersen does come by more often than I'd like and the servants do talk. So try to keep a low profile and if someone does ask who you are or what you're doing here, for the love of American pie!, don't say you're name's 'Lagoon Boy' and that you're apprentice to a superhero."

They stood in the hallway in the staff wing of Luthor Manor. Kent, being the only one with room at his house, had been chosen to put-up the third member of their squad. Now that they had all found each other, Tim was determined to make sure they all stayed together, and if not together, then at the very least in contact. So, Lagoon went to Luthor Manor. Truth be told, everyone would have been much more comfortable with the former atlantian staying with Tim, but the Robin didn't exactly have room for him at his house and his parents would ask to many questions. At Kent's house, there was almost a possibility of him not even being noticed –big mansion that it was.

"Alright then, _old chum_, what should I call myself then?"

Kent bristled at the endearment of 'old chum'. The words sounded friendly, but the tone sounded hostile. It was the first time Kent had ever heard someone make 'old chum' sound like 'shove a knife up your ass'. But he chose to ignore it –at least for the moment- for the pursuit of peace. Instead, he cast his brain around for a possible alias for his little merman. "How about Robbie Reed?"

"No thank you. That sounds like the sort of crap name you give the main character of a Saturday morning cartoon show. I'd be better off as Mighty Max."

"I'm not calling you 'Mighty Max." Kent said flatly. He crossed his arms over his chest and left no room for discussion. "How about Ned Land."

"Ironic. It's cute. No."

"Pierre Aronnax."

"No."

"Samuel Cunard."

"Stop naming characters from _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_!" The Lagoon Boy snarled. "Gaan! My name is gonna be Gaan. Lae Gaan."

Kent snorted. He couldn't help himself.

"What! It's a real name. Google it!"

…

The three met again on the next available weekend. Kent was gifted enough to be on leave from his private school on account of his accident, and as far as the state was concerned, no one knew who the hell Gaan was so he didn't have to attend any sort of schooling either. But Tim did. And his parents were very involved in his education. So, the only times they could meet were on weekends.

To save Tim money on cab fair, this time Kent and Gaan rode to Gotham. –Tim had texted them the address of a meeting place. As it turned out, the Robin's chosen meeting place was an abandoned theater in one of the nastier of Gotham's neighborhoods Both Kent and Gaan had to work together to pry enough wooden boards –each encrusted with a generous helping of rusty nails- away from a back door to get in.

They found Tim in the lobby. He was sitting under an old –faded and torn- poster for the Mask of Zorro. He wore a bright red shirt under two yellow belts that had been hung over each shoulder and crossed over his chest, over these he then wore a long black coat –highlander-style. A blue plastic tarp was spread out in front of him and over this tarp was spread-

"Shit! Are those bombs!" Kent exclaimed. "What the fuck, Tim? Where did you even _get_ that stuff! You're just a kid!"

The younger boy looked up at his two late-coming companions. As a point of clarifications, and a small semantic that Tim felt was important but he still didn't bother to explain, was that what he had in front of him were not actually bombs, they were rather the components to _make_ bombs. All different kinds of bombs. Smoke bombs. Flash bombs. Tear gas. He did not offer an explanation as to where he had managed to procure the necessary components to make these bombs either.

Instead, he replied simply. "I can't seem to make any of them small enough to fit."

"Fit?" Gaan blinked at him. "Fit where?"

In answer, Tim opened a pouch on one of his yellow belts and withdrew from it several small pieces of sharpened metal fashioned into semi-aerodynamic blades. They were not _quite_ throwing stars, but they _were_ a closer approximation than a child of Tim's age (or any normal civilian, really) would have thought to be able to get. "The robinrangs fit just fine and I can carry plenty of them, plus essentials like lock-picks, flashlight, basic first aid, and all that jazz. But the bombs, I guess, need to be made by someone more skilled or maybe more practiced than me."

There was a beat of silence. Then…

"Robinrangs?"

Kent snapped his fingers. "Ah! Those were one of your weapons! Because you didn't have powers like the rest of the Team. You used your robinrangs and a staff. It was metal and collapsible so you could fit it on…" The Superboy's eyes fell on the crossed yellow belts over the little Robin's shoulders. "…So you could fit it on your belt! That was how you carried all the stuff you'd need. You had a 'utility belt'!"

Tim nodded and replaced the makeshift robinrangs into their pouch. "'Never leave home without it. Without your belt, you're naked' That's what I was looking for for so long. I needed my belt."

"I'm always looking for something." Kent informed them. "Up in the sky. Something red, but its not a bird or a plane, I think… I don't know…"

"T'ch, and you two call me crazy." Gaan scoffed.

The Superboy and Robin both fixed the Lagoon Boy with pointed glares that said clearly, '_You're a member of this squad too. Before you go calling us nuts just remember you're the one who thinks he can breath under water and expand like a blow-fish._'

Gaan shut his mouth.

"Why'd you call us here, Robin?" Asked the Superboy, taking charge and getting right down to business.

"I don't know… This place means something to someone I know… or, someone I knew in the dream. I think this is the place where he decided to become…"

"I meant, what's this meeting for?" Kent clarified.

"Oh right." Tim stood. He fished into another pocket of his crossed belts and withdrew from it several folded papers. Most were clippings of newspaper and magazine articles, but also printouts from scientific journals –an experiment with synthetically induced dreams, thought manipulation and then several statistics. "Okay, since Lagoon mentioned his theory of all this not being real, that maybe this is some sort of coma-dream I did a bit of research on artificially induced dreaming, and stuff like that."

He handed the articles to Kent whom skimmed them briefly before passing them to Gaan. Neither of them were big readers and it was less than five minuets before all the Robin's careful research was back in his gloved hand being only slightly glanced at by his companions.

"Okay, then fine. I'll just summarize for you." The Boy Wonder carefully folded his research and replaced it in his belt. While I was looking everything up, one name kept reappearing consistently through out it all. A scientist by the name of Doctor John Dee was a pioneer in the field of dream study. However, he was arrested for reckless endangerment and illegal experimentation on humans when almost all of his test subjects died from complications brought on by the experimental medications he'd given them."

"O… kay…" Both Kent and Gaan choired. They didn't quite get where he was going with this.

"Come one, guys…!" Tim threw his arms up in exasperation. "Bad guy… mad scientist… works with _dreams_!"

"You think he's the one that did this to us." Kent finally concluded. He paused for a moment to think. "As a theory it could work… you said he did experiments on people. Even if our shared superhero Team dream was never true and _this_ is the real world, it could still explain why we feel like its not…"

"This is _not_ the real world!" Gaan insisted passionately. "I am not a pink hairy _human_! I am a majestic green-blue atlantian and if Atlantis doesn't exist here then _this place isn't real_!"

Not for the first time, Kent and Tim exchanged a _look_.

"Alright," The Superboy began, once again taking charge. He was supposed to be squad leader, after all. "What's our next step, Robin?"

"Arkham." He answered plainly.

"Excuse me!" Both older boys exclaimed.

"John Dee is being held in Arkham, so we go to Arkham to question him." The little Boy Wonder said as if this should have been obvious.

"There is no way in hell Arkham security is gonna let three teenagers in to see a prisoner without a good reason. And, believe me, the reason we've got isn't gonna be good enough for them." Kent shook his head.

Tim suppressed the urge to ask, 'And how would you know? You're from Metropolis and have never really worked the Arkham scene before!' But he thought better of it. Instead, the little Robin turned back to his tarp of explosive components and began packing everything up. "You and Lagoon Boy may not have powers in this world," he began, "but we've all still got training. We're gonna break in, question him, and sneak out. That's our mission."

He turned back around to face them expecting to find disapproval on their faces. Instead, he found them smirking with smug humor.

"Ya know," began the Superboy, "I just so happen to have packed the perfect uniform for the job…"

…

Kent opened one of his bike's 'saddlebags' and withdrew from it the suit he'd had Happersen order for him. A tough leather motorcycle suit that fit like a seconded skin. It was bright blue and red with black shoulders and his symbol, the S inside the triangular pentagon, on the chest. Kent stripped down to just his T-shirt and undies to slip the suit on. Once it was zipped up he leaned against the bike to replace his black boots on his feet, and (though it was not necessary) slip his leather jacket back over his shoulders.

"Come on guys, are you ready to go?" He called.

Lae Gaan had stayed inside to help Tim pack-up his bombs and explosives, giving the Superboy time to suit-up. When they finally did emerge from the condemned theater, they both took one look at him and froze. The Robin gave his new attire a critical and appraising study. The Lagoon Boy snorted with derision.

"Neptune's beard! What are you wearing!"

The Superboy chose not to dignify that with an answer. Instead, he placed his fists on his red and blue V-style waist and asked, "Are you two ready to go or not?"

Robin nodded. He reached behind his head as if to pull up the hood of a sweatshirt, but he wasn't wearing a sweatshirt and this long Highlander-style coat had no hood. Instead, what the Boy Wonder pulled over his face was… well, it could really only be called a 'cowl'. Tim had apparently taken a ski-mask, cut the lower half off so that only the upper part of his face was covered and then treated the material somehow. Now it was Kent's turn to stare.

"What?" Tim asked.

"You don't look very Robin-ish." Gaan shook his head.

"The cowl kinda looks like a condom…" The Superboy muttered.

"Shut-up both of you!" The Boy Wonder snapped. He strolled up to Kent's bike, selected the smaller of the two helmets available and jammed it down on his head. Turning back to his companions, Tim said, "I hope you two made nice since we last met-up. Its gonna be a little cozy with the three of us on this thing."

…

The ride to Arkham was not in terms of time or distance. But it was still one of the longest rides all three of the boys had ever had to endure. Kent, in his bright red and blue motorcycle suit, was scooted so far forward his balls were almost resting on the gas tank. Poor little Tim, with his long black cape-like coat whipping and billowing around him, was squished between the Superboy and Laggon Boy. And Lae Gaan rode in constant fear of falling off the back of the bike, his arms wrapped fearfully around Tim, fingers clawed around his chest-belts, thighs gripping the seat with muscles he didn't even know he had.

It was in this fashion that the motley trio reached the edge of the Arkham grounds.

Tim instructed Kent to cut the engine a good mile from the main gate and the two of them helped the Superboy walk the bike off the rode and hide it in the bushes. They hiked the rest of the way to the compound. An old stone wall ran the perimeter of the asylum property, Arkham being built in the early 1900s. The mortar was crumbling in places, but the wall was still sound enough to keep the inmates in and the boys out. Jagged cables of razor-wire crowned the wall's top and the three glared at it reproachfully.

There was a moment's pause when everyone shared a single unifying look, as if to say, '_Okay, first hurtle…_'

Then, Robin fished into his belts and withdrew a pair of wire-cutters. He looked between the Lagoon Boy and Superboy –sizing-up which was taller. "Supey, can you give me a boots?"

With extreme reluctance, Kent leaned his back against the wall, cupped his hands to make a step for the Boy Wonder, and hoisted Tim up onto his shoulders. Robin's shoes felt shaky and unstable on his shoulders and the Superboy grabbed the boy's ankles for fear that he might fall. Tim was a bit heavier than his supposedly super-strong friend thought he should be. But then again, he was consistently much weaker than _he_ thought he should be. But all would be explained once they got in and could talk to John Dee. All _should_ be alright if they could just get to Dee. There was a world of difference between 'would' and 'should'.

"Done!" Robin hissed and a segment of razor wire fell on the ground next to the Superboy. The weight of the Boy Wonder then disappeared from his shoulders and he looked up to see Tim's hooded and cowled head looking down at him. "Give Lagoon a boost and then climb up after."

The Superboy shot him a look of, '_Are you serious?_' before turning to Gaan and offering his cupped hands as a step. Then the Lagoon Boy was on his shoulders. Kent could swear the former-atlantian tried to grind his heals into his shoulders as he climbed the rest of the way over the wall. Soon only the Superboy remained on the outside.

"Shame I can't jump this." He whispered.

"S'okay, I brought some rope." The Robin responded.

A thin cable was thrown over the wall and smacked the Superboy in the face. Kent glared at the thin line in the darkness. "This isn't gonna snap on me is it? I'd rather not fall and break my neck attempting to break into a crazy house. It would be hard to explain to my father."

"You'll be fine." Robin grumbled.

With a shrug and a sigh, the Superboy grabbed hold of the cable with his leather-gloved hands, braced his feet against the wall, and began to pull himself up. A few moments later he landed on the other side of the wall next to his two companions. "Okay, what now?"

"Now," explained Tim, "we get inside, find the office to see which room Dee is in, fined Dee and see what he knows."

The Boy Wonder struck out across the lawn, keeping to the hedges and shadows, running with his knees bent and staying as low to the ground as he could. Superboy and Lagoon Boy mimicked his technique as best they could with varying degrees of success.

The service access door Robin lead them to was locked and needed a card key. The Boy Wonder had no such key; neither did he have a means of hacking the lock. It wasn't like he could fit a full computer hard-drive, complete with screen, keypad and USB cable in his _glove_. (Although, Tim imagined that if he could… he would be totally bad-ass with it.) Instead, the trio waited in the shadows for one of the night guards on their regular rounds of the building to pass in or out. When one did –yawning and sighing to himself- Tim grabbed the door before it could close and the three slipped in as quickly as they could.

"Okay, second obstacle –done." The Boy Wonder smiled at them.

"Don't celebrate yet." The Superboy shook his head. "We still have to find Dee and if we're caught, chances are we'll all three be thrown in here with him."

"Not me." Robin shook his head. "I'm only thirteen. If they caught me, I'd be sent somewhere else."

"Guys!" Lagoon Boy cut them both off. "A little less chatting a bit more walking!"

The three struck out down the corridor with Robin leading the way. The inside of Arkham was much like the outside, ancient looking but with modern additions rather than renovations. The walls were stone, rather than stucco or drywall, but they had been coated with a ghastly shade of eggshell white paint that looked sickly in the hall's florescent lights. The lights were not, in fact, fitted into the ceiling as one would expect, but rather appeared to have been 'tacked on' in the mid-1920s and were simply never updated to modern standards. They hung low from the ceiling and all the Superboy had to do to touch one was reach his hand above his head. Overall, the interior of the asylum looked more like the setting of a gothic mystery or pulp-horror movie.

The Resident doctor's office was unlocked. The trio couldn't decide if this were a careless accident or if the Resident always left their office open. But either way, they weren't complaining. Robin booted up the computer and sat down in the unnecessarily luxurious swivel chair. There was much clicking of the mouse and typing on the keyboard before the Boy Wonder gave a sardonic smile of triumph and said, "Oh, password, you are so cute."

"What?" The Lagoon Boy blinked in confusion.

"His password was 'password'." Explained the Robin. He scrolled through the patient files for a little while before he found 'Dee, John Cripps' and the corresponding cell number. "Alright, lets go."

It was as they were exiting the office that things started to go south for the trio. A rare breed of security guard, one whom possessed basic powers of observation and work ethics had taken notice of the dim light from the computer in the office and moved to investigate. The timing was such that just as the boy's opened the door to exit, all three nearly barreled into the security officer's uniformed chest. The man blinked in confusion at finding the intruders to be three teenaged boys. He stared at them perhaps a second or two to long, giving the Superboy an opportunity to grab him, push the man out of their way and pin him to the opposite wall.

"I got this!" He said over his leather-jacketed shoulder, the yellow S-shield on his back standing out brightly –enhanced by the florescent light. "You two finish the mission."

Robin did not hesitate, he had been trained never to hesitate –though, he still couldn't remember by whom. The Boy Wonder grabbed the Lagoon Boy and dragged them both sprinting down the corridor to John Dee's room, leaving the Superboy holding the officer against the wall.

"I'm gonna taser you now." Kent informed him, reaching one hand to remove the guard's own taser from his belt. "Its nothing personal, I just can't have you sounding the alarm before we're done."

He gave the man a short shock on the medium setting. The guard grunted from the jolt and sunk to his knees. The Superboy left him where he fell and dashed off down the corridor to follow after his comrades. In retrospect, perhaps it would have been smarter for him to drag the body out of sight, perhaps into the office with its door still hanging open or a disused broom closet. But, not, the Superboy left him where he fell, lying in the middle of the corridor. That would come back to bite them in the ass.

Kent caught up with the other two relatively quickly and Robin lead them on a twisting turning trek through the labyrinth-like corridors of Arkham Asylum. It was as they were just cresting the second story landing that the alarms sounded, up and down the corridors automatic door locks were slammed shut with soft, near-inaudible, electronic clicks, and the trio froze in their steps. Robin turned to the Superboy.

"What did you do with that guard back there?"

"I tasered him." Kent answered. The defensive statement of 'I didn't kill him if that's what you mean.' going unsaid.

"What'd you do after that?"

"Nothing." Shrugged the Superboy. "I just left him there and caught up with you guys."

"You left him there? Out in the middle of the hall? Are you crazy?"

There was a beat of silence.

Then Lagoon muttered, "Idiot."

"Whatever." The Superboy cut off whatever else either of them might have been about to say and once again took charge of the situation. "The mission's pretty much shot. Now we've got to figure out a way out of here."

"But if we leave before speaking to Dee, we may never figure this out!" Robin protested.

"If we get caught, we might end up permanent residents here." Superboy shot back.

"I don't really like agreeing with Super-prick over here, but I vote leave." The Lagoon Boy acted as tie-breaker.

"But… we're so close…" The Robin muttered knowing it wouldn't make a difference, he was out-voted and Arkham security would have them out-numbered. He hung his head low in defeat and set his mind to devising a plan of escape. "If they've found the guard you left out, they've probably already found the missing segment of wire along the wall and figured out what door we came through. We can't go back out the way we came."

"Okay, so what do we do?" Asked the other two boys.

Tim pursed his lips and thought about their options and the items he carried with him in his belts. "This would be so much easier if I had some smoke-bombs." He muttered. "How do you guys feel about windows?"

Neither looked to thrilled with the idea, but unfortunately, they did not get the chance to answer one way or another.

"_Freeze_!" The trio was promptly surrounded by a small contingent of Arkham security. Three at the foot of the stairs below them, two on the landing in front of them, one in the corridor behind them.

"Wow, nice reaction time." Robin blinked.

"Put your hands on your head!"

"Hey now, lets all just calm down." Superboy lifted his hands up so that they could clearly be seen but did not place them on his head. He moved to place himself between the other two and the most guns, then realized that he was exposing them to the other three. He did not like this situation one bit and the hair on his arms ant the back of his neck stood on end with nervous tension.

"Stay where you are! And place your hands on your head!"

"Okay, okay." He lowered his hands onto his ebony hair. "Everything's okay. Lets all just remember that we're rational adults here and nobody wants to shoot or get shot."

The Superboy once again shifted his body to place himself between the other two and the guns pointed at them from the landing.

"Stop moving. Stay where you are!"

"They seem a might twitchy to you?" Lagoon Boy whispered to the Robin.

"There's no reason for it." The Boy Wonder replied. "I mean, besides us breaking in here. We can't look all that threatening, I mean, we're just kids. Something about this doesn't seem right…"

"Robin, a little less chatting and a little more thinking would be great." Superboy muttered through gritted teeth. "It was your bright idea that got us in here, what's your plan for getting us out?"

For a third time, he shifted his position so that he was between his companions and the one guard poised in the corridor.

"I said, '_don't move'_!" Snapped another guard.

The one facing the Superboy shook with nerves. His hand spasmed. The trigger was pulled. There was a bang. Everyone froze. Kent placed his hand over his stomach, wondering why the hell he was suddenly in so much pain. Then he was on his knees with no memory of falling. Then he was laying on his side.

"Supey!"

"Superboy!"

People were shouting. Someone was applying pressure to his stomach. Everything hurt.

"You shot him! You _shot_ him!" That was Robin's voice. Robin… he knew someone else named Robin… but he wasn't the one shouting… the one shouting was… Tim. "Supey… Supey, speak to me. Kent! _Kent_! Say something!"

His mouth moved. He tired to form words. He said something that was clawing its way to the forefront of his mind. "This… this is what it feels like…"

…


	8. Three Rise

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Lucidity

Chapter Eight: Three Rise

It was amazing the way Wolf and the Super-Cycle communicated. Or, rather, appeared to communicate. Dick wasn't sure if it could actually be classified as 'communication', but whatever it was, it was interesting. Sphere sometimes reminded the former Boy Wonder of R2-D2 from Star Wars and Supey, Luke Skywalker; that would make Wolf C-3PO. Hm, no. Wolf was like a second –slightly hairier- R2 unit. At least, the two appeared to communicate as if they were of the same ilk.

Sphere's main form of communication was a range of beeps, whistles and trills (once gain, the Nightwing was reminded of an astro-mech droid from Star Wars), and to this myriad of synthetic sounds most people were forced to guess what the New Genesis machine was actually trying to say. Even Kon, whom was most adept at conversing with the Sphere, did little more than make educated guesses. He might have 'bonded' with her five years ago in Bialya, but even he could not speak binary –or, whatever.

But Wolf seemed to have no trouble.

The kobra venom enhanced predator sat in the forward seat of the Super-Cycle, his nose outstretched, following whatever traces of Kon's scent he could detect. Every now and again Sphere would give a questioning little trill or bleep of impatience and the Wolf would respond with a clip bark, yip or growl of his own. Like they had their own secret language.

With Wolf to guide and Sphere to fly, the rescue squad quickly found themselves zooming across the bay to a bank dotted with private docs. Not exactly the sort of place one would expect to find the seedy underbelly of a city's criminal element. But then again, the key to not having your headquarters discovered was to place it in a location that no one would thing of. Location. Location. Location. Just like in realty, when buying your first house, same for picking out your hideout whether you be hero, villain or kid with a clubhouse.

Sphere slowed as they neared the bank and its row of widely spaced docs. Many of them ran right up to the back doors of the houses. Private houses. This looked to be a waterfront residential neighborhood, again, not the place one would expect to find a secret villain's hideout. Sphere hovered parallel to the bank as Wolf sniffed the air. The human's of the party sat impatiently in their seats –waiting for results. Finally, without warning, the Wolf gave a soft "arf" and hopped out of the Super-Cycle. He landed with all four paws on the sun-damaged and warping wooden planks of a narrow doc that was just wide enough to be functional. A single speedboat that looked like it had been retrofitted with a larger engine and propeller was moored to it.

Nightwing hopped out after the Wolf and soon everyone else followed.

Dick climbed into the boat and after a quick but thorough inspection found a smugglers' hold large enough to just barely fit the bodies of three teenaged boys (if they were tightly packed). The compartment was empty, however, and Dick did not know whether to consider that a comfort or a cause for more worries. He thoroughly examined the compartment for any sort of confirmation that their missing Teammates had, indeed, been held there. A scrap of Kon's frequently torn clothing, something that might have fallen out of Tim's belt, heck, maybe even one of La'gaan's blue-green scales. But no. There was nothing.

Still, the Nightwing was sure that were held in that hold for at least the duration of the boat ride here. He was sure Wolf had lead them to the right place. The former Boy Wonder followed the line of the ill-maintained doc up to where it met the back porch of the house.

It was not a small house. Neither was it overly large. It fit in quite nicely with the surrounding neighborhood. It did look about as ill-maintained as the doc, but not un-lived-in. There was a lawn chair on the back lawn and the ground around it was littered with a number of crushed beer cans. Whoever _did_ live here was certainly fond of their drink. There were mismatched curtains in all the windows. White, yellow and blue in the first floor windows, green, purple and burnt orange in the second floor windows.

"_Que ahora_, Boss-Bird?" Blue Beetle asked behind him.

The Nightwing looked back as his squad. His eyes fell on the Wolf, "You're sure this is the place?"

The kobra venom enhanced Wolf looked professionally insulted and gave an indignant snort as if to say, '_Do you doubt by hunting skills?_'

Dick raised his eyes to Bumblebee. "Do a quick scan of the house. Make sure you're not seen by anyone inside."

Karen nodded her understanding and promptly shrunk down to her Bee size. She zipped around the building, doing a quick perimeter check before heading inside through the chimney. Nightwing and Blue Beetle waited on the doc while Wolf proceeded to claim the navigator's chair in the speedboat as his territory and Sphere transformed back into her base ball form. Finally, after a good twenty minutes, Bumblebee returned.

"There's no one in the house." She said. "At least, not that I could see. But the dinging room table is pushed up against the wall and the rug is pulled back."

"And what does that tell you?" Asked Nightwing.

"That I need someone with more detective skills than me to come take a look." Karen crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not dumb, I'm sure the stuff is moved 'cause there's a trap-door or something there, but I just can't see it."

"Okay, then I guess we're going in."

Dick dispatched the back door lock easily enough. It was just a simple tumbler, the same kind of handle-lock and dead-bolt combination all city homes have. There was no security chain. The door opened without a sound, not even the slightest of squeaks or creeks. The outside might not have been well cared for, but the doors and the insides were near pristine. Karen lead them to the segment of exposed dining room floor and the Nightwing knelt down for a better look and instantly realized what Karen meant.

The spot was a prime location for a secret trap-door. Not right out in the middle of a room where it would be constantly walked on and at risk of being detected, but not shoved out of the way either. The sort of spot it would be natural to place a table over so as to conceal it without being to overt about it. The table, however, had been pushed back against the wall, there were fresh scuff-marks on the floor that confirmed its current position not to be its normal one. The problem was, there was no evidence of a secret door in the floor.

Dick knocked on the wood in the center of the spot and received a deep hollow sound. He knocked on the wood beside himself to compare and received a higher octave and no hollow sound. So, there was definitely a lack of something under the stop. There just wasn't a seam where an access panel would be. He turned to Beetle.

"Can you do a scan?"

They waited a moment while the hands of Blue Beetle's exo-suit morphed into two flat discs, rather like the kind one usually sees on the ends of metal-detectors at the beach. There was a moment's paused filled by nothing more than a pregnant silence. Then, Jaime looked up.

"Could you guys maybe step back?"

Nightwing stood and backed-up several paces while Bumblebee flitted to the opposite side of the room. Wolf sat, patient and dignified, next to the former Boy Wonder. They all waited while Jaime appeared to hold a brief argument with himself.

"No, we don't need to use to the high-wave burst cannon. _Ay dios mio!_ I don't wanna fry everyone that's in there. Just open the hatch." One arm of his exo-suit morphed into a small sonic wave emitter and the Blue Beetle pointed this at the spot in the floor.

At first nothing happened. Then a seem began to appear, as if the wood were melting away to reveal it. Then a second seem that intersected with the first. Then a third. Then a fourth. Finally, there was an almost perfect square in the floor that soon slid aside to reveal a perfectly square-shaped hole big enough for a full grown man to fit through easily. Nightwing stepped forward to peer inside and was greeted with the site of rather ordinary looking stairs.

"Alright, Team, down the hatch!"

They made their way silently down the stairs with Nightwing at the head. Everything was very well lit and there was a sterility to the place that made the rescue squad think of a hospital. It wasn't just the blank walls that were painted a bland shade of eggshell white, nor was it the metal-paneled floor with just the slightest of shines to it, it wasn't even the low rhythmic hum of electronics (though, admittedly, that particular detail was better suited to a mad scientist's lab). No, it was the smell that made them all think of a hospital. It was an odd combination of ethel alcohol and stale air.

"The kryptonian is spiking again!"

The rescue squad followed the sound of voices to a quardoned-off section of the underground compound. There was a sliding door that had been left ajar and peering through it, Dick could see two scientist-types –a man and a woman- bent over a figure lying on a table. Their bodies obscured his view, but the Nightwing would recognize those combat boots anywhere. After all, the person they belonged to had worn them every day for the past five years.

On a second table, behind the combat booted feet, Dick saw another figure laying on another table, this one clad in red and black, his cape had been removed and was folded at his feet, but aside from that the little Robin looked no worse for wear. Behind him, Nightwing saw the webbed feet and blue-green scales of an anthropomorphosized fish-man. Lagoon Boy, Robin, Superboy; all present and accounted for.

"Increase his SDI."

"I don't think that's gonna-"

He was cut off rather suddenly when the kryptonian in question jerked in his sleep, sat up with a startling cry, one hand going to his stomach, and proceeded to roll off the table he was on. Landing on the floor in a disoriented heap.

…

The guard facing the Superboy shook with nerves. His hand spasmed. The trigger was pulled. There was a bang. Everyone froze. Kent placed his hand over his stomach, wondering why the hell he was suddenly in so much pain. Then he was on his knees with no memory of falling. Then he was lying on his side.

"Supey!"

"Superboy!"

People were shouting. Someone was applying pressure to his stomach. Everything hurt.

"You shot him! You shot him!" That was Robin's voice. Robin… he knew someone else named Robin… but he wasn't the one shouting… the one shouting was… Tim. "Supey… Supey, speak to me. Kent! Kent! Say something!"

His mouth moved. He tired to form words. He said something that was clawing its way to the forefront of his mind, like an epiphany. "This… this is what it feels like…"

Everything faded.

He was in a swirling microcosm of colors and sounds. His stomach didn't hurt anymore, but something still wasn't quite right. '_The kryptonian is spiking again.'… 'Increase his SDI._' … Words and sounds spiraled around him, pulling him upwards until the Superboy found himself sitting up –gasping. He tumbled off of whatever it was he'd been laying on, his hand still on his stomach.

The pain was gone, and when he lifted his shirt to examine the wound he found only to smooth, unblemished, plain of abs with not even a naval to mar his perfection. No belly button… Of course! He wasn't supposed to have a belly button, clones don't have belly buttons. He was a clone. Supey… the Superboy, a clone of the Superman! Everything came flooding back with the kind of crystal clarity one experiences shortly after waking up from a dream.

The Superboy glanced around himself wildly. He didn't recognize this place, it had the same feeling to it as a medical wing, but it certainly was _not_ the infirmary they had at the Cave. Several electrodes were stuck over his forehead and arms and he yanked them off violently. It was then that he actually noticed the pair standing over him.

"Where am I?" He demanded. "Who're you?"

Neither of them got the opportunity to answer, however, as the sliding door behind them suddenly burst open with a dramatic _swish-THNK_ and four very familiar and very welcome figures pored into he room.

"Hold it right there!" Shouted Nightwing.

Blue Beetle and Bumblebee (in her natural, human size) flanked him on either side, while Wolf dashed forward to the Superboy and began licking his face with relived affection. Once he determined that the demi-kryptonian was unharmed, the kobra venom enhanced predator turned his attention –fangs and all- on his Alpha's captors.

Superboy climbed to his feet, bracing one hand on the medical table behind him. "Will somebody please tell me what's going on…?" He once again cast his eyes about the room and this time saw Robin and Lagoon Boy lying unconscious on their own slabs. "_What did you do to them!"_

"That's something we'd all like to know." Nightwing growled out in his best impression of the Batman-voice.

The two shivered just noticeably in their white lab coats, cowering at the realization of the situation they were in. With the Nightwing and two other metas in front of them, a pissed-off kryptonian and wolf behind them and no way to escape. A pregnant silence filled the air as they weighed their options. When the silence dragged on to long for the Superboy's notoriously short patience he snarled, making the pair jump.

"What have you done to Robin and Lagoon Boy?" He demanded. "Wake them up!"

"But the experiment-" One of them began, but he was quickly silenced by a sharp elbow to the ribs, delivered by his lovely colleague.

But it was a tad to late. The protest had been voiced and the Superboy did not appreciate it one bit. He grabbed the man by the front collar of his white coat and pulled him closer to meet his eyes. The demi-kryptonian's crystal-blue stare bored into the man whom gave a short whimper of sudden terror.

It was with a low growl that the Superboy said, "Bring them back. Or, so help me…"

The threat trailed off into the imagination of the one he held. He got the point. The demi-kryptonian could crush him with a pinky-finger.

"You won't hurt us." Said the other doctor. She tucked a stray strand of unremarkable brown hair back behind her ear from where it had fallen loose of the no-nonsense bun she'd pulled it up in. "Superman doesn't hurt people."

So confident was she that she didn't wait for the Superboy to turn his attention to her. She stepped right up to him and placed a hand over the one that held her partner. She knew she could never pull him free in a million years, the gesture was meant to convey her confidence and security in the belief that he was as harmless as the Boy Scout from whom he had been cloned.

The Superboy grabber her wrist with his other hand and gripped it tight enough to bruise and the woman hissed at the pain. He leaned down to her, their faces so close his nose nearly brushed hers when he said, in a deathly calm voice barely louder than a whisper, "I'm not Superman."

Now she _was_ scared. They both were.

"Superboy, let them go." Nightwing commanded, in a tone as gravely serious as the demi-kryptonian's own.

"Yeah, _mijo_, that ain't cool." Blue Beetle echoed with far less seriousness.

The Nightwing stepped forward and placed one silent but commanding hand on the Superboy's shoulder. The demi-kryptonian loosened his grip but did not let either of them go. Nightwing then turned his attention to the pair of mad scientists. "Is there any reason that it might harm our Teammates if you wake them up right now?"

At that question, Superboy gave a start. He hadn't considered the idea that waking them up might damage them. He inwardly demurred and decided to let Dick take over from this point on. He was Team Leader after all.

The pair was silent a moment longer before the woman finally said, "No. We can bring them up at any time we like with no harm to the subjects."

"Then wake them up now." He said in the same clear tone of command he'd used on the Superboy. "Or, I could just let Supey here go to town on you and I'll figure it out myself. I am rather good with computers and Supey gets fussy if he goes to long without breaking something."

The woman turned white as a sheet. "We'll do it." She promised. "But he needs to let us go."

Nightwing gave Superboy a nod and with only a slight bit of reluctance, the demi-kryptonian let them go.

The whole Team watched with suspicious scrutiny as the pair set about turning dials, punching in numbers, decreasing chemical doses and increasing others to bring the Lagoon Boy and Robin out of their artificially induced sleeps. Finally, they began to stir. Superboy moved to stand by Tim's bedside.

The Boy Wonder opened his eyes slowly, blinked a few times, sighed as if going back to sleep, and then his brain processed what his eyes saw. He sat bolt upright, throwing both arms around the Superboy. "Suepy! You're alive!" He exclaimed with glee. Then pulled back and amended soberly, "Or we're both dead."

"We're alive." The Superboy assured him. "And everything's back to normal."

"I'll say." Behind him, La'gaan sat up examining the scales on his arms and legs and the webbing between his fingers and tows. He grinned at the Superboy. "Man, I never thought I'd be happy to see your sorry face."

The three shared a loose group-hug.

…


	9. All's Said & Done

Disclaimer: I do not own either Young Justice or its related characters. Such are the property of DC Comics, Warner Bros. Entertainment and Cartoon Network. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.

Lucidity

Epilogue: All's Said & Done

Kon pulled Sphere level with the window and asked her to hover as silently as she could while he helped Tim climb in through the open sill.

"Thanks for the ride." Said the Boy Wonder as he threw the strap of a backpack containing his Robin costume over one shoulder. "I really appreciate it."

"You're sure Batman will be okay with me knowing where you live?" Kon asked with the slightest bit of unease in his voice. "I mean, I already know he's gonna be pissed-off to high holy hell when he gets back and learns that I know who you are."

Tim finished climbing in through the window and turned back around to face his companion. "See, that's the thing with the gag-order." He shook his head. "We're not supposed to share our identities and we're supposed to do everything within our power to keep people from _figuring out_ our identities. But if an ally somehow manages to learn who we are, then we're allowed to keep-up the friendship. Something about building trust, or something like that. That's why Bats and Superman hang-out in their civilian guises sometimes."

"I… see…" Kon said slowly. Then, "Does that mean I'm supposed to invite you to the farm then? Since I know where you live now, its only fair that I share the other place that I live with you."

"Only if you want to." Tim assured him. He dashed from the window to his desk, pulled out pen and post-its and jotted something down quickly. When he returned to the window, he passed the post-it note to the Superboy. "Okay, so here's my civilian number. Call me, maybe, if you do wanna hang-out outside of costume."

"Okay." Kon placed the note in his pocket. "Do you want me to pick you up tomorrow for your talking session with Black Canary?"

…

"Okay, so how does this work? Do you ask me questions or am I just supposed to start talking about random stuff and you pick out the important bits?" Tim sat across from Black Canary in one of the lounge's green armchairs. The room had been set aside so that each member of his squad could have their own private counseling session with Canary.

"Whatever makes you feel most comfortable." She replied, folding her hands over her crossed knees. She waited patiently.

"Are you even licensed to practice psychology?"

"Of the available candidates for this, I'm the best suited." Dinah answered diplomatically.

The Boy Wonder leaned back in his chair. "Right. Not many options when it comes to choosing therapists for superheroes, is there."

She flashed him a lopsided smile. "No, there aren't."

"Its just that, psychology is a big part of Batman's training, so I already know a lot of this. I don't see how talking is gonna help. I can already diagnose myself."

Canary's smile turned serious. "Robin, these talking sessions aren't to diagnose you, they are just to _talk_. About what ever you might want to talk about. I read the mission reports. It must have been hard for you, having your mother back…"

"Oh, that." Tim looked up. "Yeah, it was really weird, but… but it didn't really get to me. I knew something was up from the very beginning, I never really believed she was real. What really bothered me… what really _bothers_ me…"

The Robin paused. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He began again. "Nightwing told me that he and the original Team went through something similar, except it had been staged by Batman for the purpose of training. A sort of Kobayashi-maru dream simulation. –You know what the Kobayashi-maru is, right?- Anyway, he said that he watched everyone on the Team die, and he came up with a plan that got even more of them killed and it just… It reminded me… It was my idea to go to Arkham –in the dream, I mean."

He paused to adjust his shades. Taking the opportunity, the Boy Wonder looked up at the Black Canary to gauge her reaction so far, but she only sat patiently waiting for him to continue.

"We were only out for like seven hours, according to Nightwing. But in the dream it was like several weeks." He began again. "In those weeks, Superboy and I worked together a lot. We were a good team –I think. But then, when I saw him get shot… Because of something that was my idea… God! I watched him die! He's not supposed to get shot! He's the freaking Superboy! He's supposed to be bullet-proof, things just bounce off his skin. A strong pillar of invulnerability, ya know? And he would act like it too, even though he didn't have his powers in the dream, he was always placing himself between me and any possible threat. The mother-henning little idiot."

Here, Canary did pause him to comment. "Why do you think his death affected you so badly?"

"I have no idea. I've seen people get shot, its no bid deal; and I don't have Batman's gun-phobia either. And I've seen people die before, too. Gotham isn't as nice a place as Star City, it mean. There's a reason the government declared Gotham a 'no-man's-land' a couple years back. Bats says Superman once called Gotham a nightmare that someone had built. Sometimes, it kinda is. I don't wanna say I'm 'desensitized', but death and violence just don't bother me as much as they seem to bother other people. But when Superboy got shot… I don't know…"

…

"The pair that was holding you were just middle-men working for a much larger, more influential employer."

Nightwing and Kon had locked themselves in one of the Cave's private debriefing rooms to discuss the botched mission more in-depthly. The two stood in near darkness, the only light provided by the wide array of holo-screens projected around them. The former Boy Wonder flicked his finger over the screens to display relevant information or to illustrate his narrative to the Superboy. Kon, for his part, stood with arms crossed over his chest and a dark scowl seemingly permanently plastered over his usually handsome face.

"The Light." The demi-kryptonian concluded.

"Probably." Dick gave a self-deprecating shrug. "But, really, we have no evidence one way or another. After I sent your squad back to the Cave, the rest of us did a thorough sweep of their lab. We found six other levels farther down –all full of children in their mid-teens in similar induced dream states. We think it was actually a testing lab looking for the meta-gene."

"But La'gaan and I are already metas." Kon shook his head. "Robin, I understand them taking him, he's normal –or as normal as you bats get. But what could they want with me and the fish-boy?"

"From what I managed to get out of the two, they found Robin spying on them and _somehow_ managed to subdue him." Nightwing placed an unusual amount of stress on the word 'somehow'. "They were not very forthcoming with their methods, even after using some of the lass savory interrogation techniques Batman taught me. I think there was someone else with them at the time, someone who didn't go with them back to the lab when they took all of you. Do you remember how they managed to get you?"

The Superboy shook his head. "Memory's still a bit foggy. But I agree with your theory. It would have to be by some _Amazing Grace_ that two normal humans could take me down without using magic or kryptonite."

Dick nodded his agreement. "So, they took out Robin but didn't know what to do with him. Before they could decide, you and La'gaan showed up and they had to deal with you too. Then they had three incapacitated heroes and no idea what to do with you. So, they did what all animals do when they're scared –they ran home, and they took you with them. I assume you ended-up the way you did because they were scientists and just wanted to see what would happen. That's probably also why they kept you sequestered from the rest of their subjects. Can't have the side-projects contaminating their real work."

"So that's it then?" Kon's scowl contorted into a snarl that died silent on his lips. "The three of us went through all that just so a pair of brain-bending scientists could get their 'shits and giggles'?"

Dick remained tactfully silent.

The demi-kryptonian's anger deflated quickly. "Well, its nice to at least have some sort of reason."

Nightwing placed, what he hoped was a comforting hand on his old friend's shoulder. "I know you've got a talking session scheduled with Canary, but do you wanna talk to me about it? I still remember the Failsafe-sim that Bats put us through way back when."

"Thanks, 'Wing." Kon brushed his hand off. "But I'm alright. Like you just reminded me, I've been through something like this before. Its really not that big a deal."

"Is that Kon-speak for telling me that you don't actually intend to talk to Canary about it either?"

"I'll be fine." The Superboy deflected.

…

Water dripped on the carpeted floor from the chair in which the Lagoon Boy sat. "Man! Does it feel good to be able to swim again!" He exclaimed with glee. "I mean, yeah, I could still swim in the dream and everything, but it just wasn't the same, ya know?"

"It must have been difficult for you, adjusting to such a dramatically altered physical form." Canary nodded. While she couldn't relate to the fish-man, she could still imagine something of what he had gone through.

"Oh, I didn't try to adjust. I didn't want to adjust." He told her. "I knew what I was and what was right and that everything I saw was wrong. I just didn't know how to fix any of it. They tried to convince me I was crazy, ya know."

Canary nodded. She had read the reports.

"But if it hadn't been for Superboy getting shot and waking up, we never would have gotten out of there. As much as I can't stand that guy… If it weren't for him, I'd probably still be trapped in that world."

At that admission, Black Canary leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees, she asked, "Does that mean you'd like to try and reconcile your differences with him?"

"I… I don't know, yet." La'gaan admitted. "He…"

The Lagoon Boy trailed off into a pregnant silence filled only by the ticking of the clock against the far wall. Canary waited patiently, she had no intention of forcing him to open-up before he was ready. The purpose of these sessions was to put the young heroes at ease, not interrogate them on their personal lives. Finally, he said…

"I feel threatened by him."

"I don't believe Conner would ever _hurt _you!" Canary gasped in horror.

"No, no, no!" La'gaan amended quickly. "I don't mean like beat me up or anything. I mean… well, it's just… M'gann never did tell me why he dumped her, and… I see the way they still look at each other sometimes –both of them. It makes me think… I wonder if…" He sighed in irritation. "This is stupid. We're supposed to be talking about how the latest mission affected me, not my stupid romantic bullshit. Sorry."

"Don't apologize." Canary shook her head. "If this is what you feel you need to talk about, then its what we'll talk about. I wonder, have you ever asked _Conner_ why he broke-up with M'gann?"

"No…"

"Why not?"

"I just… never did." He said slowly.

"Well, if it bothers you that much, and M'gann won't talk to you about it, the only other way you're going to find out is by asking him. Talk with him. You might find that you two have more in common with each other than _just_ M'gann M'orzz. I honestly think you cloud be friends."

…

The Gotham streets were dirty and dingy and they should be. Trash cluttered the curbs and storm drains. The tight building's and narrow streets blocked most sunlight, turning even the brightest of Sunday afternoons into dusty dimness. But the ice cream parlor's patio was clean swept, the tables were whipped and Kon had been sure to take an extra long sunbath prior to meeting up with Robin –er, Tim.

The two sat at a tiny cast-iron table. Tim with a cone of butter pecan over devil's chocolate in one hand, his other arm thrown carelessly over the back of his chair. Kon had a single scoop of plain vanilla, no sprinkles, in cup because he dripped. He hadn't been out like this since… well, since he had broken-up with M'gann.

"I feel awkward." He announced.

"Oh, come on. Gotham's not that bad." Tim insisted.

"No, not that." The demi-kryptonian was quick to assure his friend. "Its just… Sorry, I've never been very good at social intercourse. Its what I don't have many friends outside of the Team."

Tim took a long lick around the base of his ice cream to prevent drips before he answered. "Pro-tip: Don't call it 'social intercourse'. It kinda put people off."

"Oh. Okay." He took a bite of his own ice cream with the obnoxiously brightly colored plastic spoon that was provided for him.

"Alright, so you don't really know how to talk about anything other than Team stuff. Okay." The By Wonder gave a shrug and took another lick of his cone. "I gotta say, I'm impressed with Black Canary. I checked her file on the computer and she's not a licensed therapist in her civilian identity, but I still found talking to her to be really helpful."

"Yeah, she's great." Kon agreed. "And –Hey! You're not supposed to hack people's civilian identities! Superman says that even Batman believes that they're entitled to their secret identities."

"I know. I know." Tim nodded, sounding adequately chastised but not looking the slightest bit remorseful. "I was just curious. That's all. oh, by the way, you don't have to keep calling him 'Superman' around me, either. I know who he is too."

"Does he know that you know?"

The younger boy was a long time in answering. Finally, "Probably. I think he just assumes that anyone who works with Batman knows at least his name."

Kon leaned back in his seat and groaned with a sigh –or sighed with a groan, it was hard to tell. After a few more bites of ice cream he decided to swing the topic of conversation back to what Tim had originally began it with. "So, what about talking with Canary did you like?"

The Boy Wonder shrugged. "I guess how relaxed everything was. I could say and much or as little as I wanted and she wouldn't press for more, or she would stop and drop a topic if it made me uncomfortable. That's something that never happens when I talk to my dad or step-mom, or even Nightwing and Batgirl."

"Yeah." Kon agreed. "That is something that I've always liked about her too. She's like a mom, big sister, and mentor all rolled into one."

"Yeah… she kinda _is_!" He took another long lick of his cone. "So, what'd you talk to her about?"

"Oh, I haven't seen her yet, actually. At least, not since our last mission."

…

M'gann was on the couch when the Superboy returned to the cave later that evening. Actually, she was on the couch with La'gaan, but Kon didn't see the atlantian at first due to the fact that the martian girl was laying on top of him. Not inappropriately, they had been lectured about that several times already. No, they were just cuddling while watching the end of Pan's Labyrinth.

The demi-kryptonian tried his best not to disturb them as he went by.

"So, what do you think, baby? Did all that actually happen, or was it all in her head?"

"Angel-fish, do you think we coud maybe discuss that particular aspect of the movie in another couple of weeks after this last mission is good and behind me?"

"I still think you should let me help you with that."

Kon paused at that. He turned. Opened his mouth to say something. Stopped. Turned back around without saying a word. But before he could disappear back down the corridor…

"Is that you, Old Chum?" the fish-boy called him back.

"No, its Bruce Banner." The Superboy bit out.

There was a pregnant pause. Then, "I was just wondering if we could talk some time."

"I'm really busy, La'gaan." He lied. "So if its not about Team business, I don't think we'll be able to talk for a long time."

…

Silence filled the private louge set aside for Black Canary's talking sessions, a silence interrupted only by the regular ticking of the clock on the far side of the room. Dinah waited with her legs crossed at the knee, hands folded in her lap. She was used to this patient's habits, she had grown very familiar with them over the past five years. He would talk when he was ready.

"Sorry it took me so long to get around to this."

"I understand." She assured him. Kon always seemed to procrastinate when it came to talking about things that bothered him.

The Superboy said no more for a long time after that. The silence returned, thick around them. The click of the clock becoming ever-so-slightly irritating.

Finally, Canary prompted, "It must have been a disorienting experience for you, not having your powers and just being an ordinary boy for once."

"Uh, yeah. It was really weird. By the way, getting shot –way less pleasant than being disintegrated."

"I'm sure." She nodded. "But that's not what's bothering you."

"What? Getting shot or not having my powers?"

"Either."

Kon leaned back in his chair, muscular arms thrown limply over the armrests. "Yeah, neither of those bother me now that I'm back in the real world."

"But something about the incident _is_ bothering you." Dinah continued. She didn't usually like to press the Team during these sessions, but sometimes it was necessary to lead them a little. "Was it the fact that in that world your father was Lex Luthor?"

"No." He groaned. "Well, maybe a little. But not really."

Now Black Canary waited. Kon knew what she wanted to know and if he wanted to tell her, he would. But in his own time. The demi-kryptonian always did everything in his own time. He did not like it when others dictated to him or made unfair demands.

The minutes ticked by.

Finally, when their hour was almost up and Canary was ready to call it a day and ask Kon to come back for another session…

"I'm just really sick of it." He said.

She blinked, not understanding. Without a context his outburst sounded so random. "Sick of what?"

"People messing with my head." He said with all the seriousness of an undertaker. "Mind-control, manipulation, memory loss, control-words, life-like dream simulations… I'm just sick of it. When I left Cadmus I thought things would be different. A brave new world of freedom. But since then, all I've found is more of the same. Different names and faces, same old song and dance. Cadmus, Psimon, Lex, M'gann, these new guys… I'm just…" He placed a hand over his eyes, but Canary couldn't tell if it was to block the sight of sympathy on her face, or to hide unshed tears in his eyes. "_I'm so sick of people messing with my head!_"

…

END


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